Wish You Were Here
by ChampionTheWonderSnail
Summary: Survive Ostagar - check. Gather Army - check. Slay Archdemon and survive - also check. Become Ferelden's new Warden Commander and Arl of Amaranthine? Uhhh...So, I'll get back to you on that? Alistair's life post-Blight.
1. Detritus

This was inspired by Monoral's 'Kiri'; a moody song that's become this particular Alistair's anthem. Oh, and Warden Alistair shedding quiet man-tears in my head.

PS A reader suggested a little note (thanks by the way!) for some background: this story takes place after _Wishing You Weren't Here. _If you haven't anything better to do such as saving the whales and small kittens up trees, then you _might _want to read it. Though fair warning – it is rather long, and has a frog in it.

Characters, world and attitude are the sole domain of Bioware and their world of Dragon Age. I'm just flittering about the edges…honest!

-oo-

**Chapter 1 – Detritus**

_Clink…clatter…shuffle, shuffle…_

"…oh dear _Duncan…!_"

_Sigh…_He rifled through the creased woodblock prints before throwing them onto designated pile 'D'. Resting his chin in his hand, Alistair surveyed the mounds of personal belongings. Grey Wardens came from all parts and all walks of life; noblemen, farmers, scholars, the devout and chaste, the criminal-minded…and yet all of them had accumulated over their relatively short lives, the kind of cheap clutter you'd think to only find in an elderly aunt's chintz-infected sitting room. Although he had to admit, there were _some _things no elderly aunt would be caught dead with. Or maybe they were; who was to know?

Naughty prints of _ladies_ performing what could only be described as acts in defiance of the natural laws of gravity were _not _what he expected to find in the old Warden Commander's personal store. Or maybe he should have…It was difficult to lump his old mentor in the category of 'just another male'. His memories of Duncan were of an upright, taciturn individual – endlessly patient, unrepentantly dedicated, wise, gentlemanly, elegantly ruthless…not some old geezer that collected cheeky pictures of scantily-clad, impossibly-provisioned women. Even if some of them _were _rather good.

The piles he'd sorted were small. He supposed anything of value – sentimental or otherwise – would have been taken to Ostagar with the Wardens. He'd been hoping to find enough items to set up a kind of – what could he call it – a display? A memorial? Something for people to remember the Grey Wardens by, besides a single engraved line on a slab of marble. Something that told people Grey Wardens had been people like everyone else…Sort of.

He sighed. Displaying what he had found in the Grey Warden building thus far would probably get him arrested.

Alistair turned to the single rose, propped unassumingly in a tumbler nearby. It had been his rose, the one he'd found in Lothering over two - _Blessed Andraste, has it been that long? -_ years ago. Sandal had cleverly given it a new lease of life, in shimmering metals of red and silver, and of such a delicate yet strong construction that even Shale could pound it into the ground and it wouldn't even dent.

He held up the prints for the rose's inspection. "What do you think? High art? Or the fastest way to a week's long incarceration and a ration of mouldy bread and stale water?" Alistair shrugged at the rose, "Well, I don't know…I'm not Sergeant Kylon – _is _it illegal to be in possession of depictions of very chilly ladies? It's not going to kill anyone…still…there's not much you can do with these…I wonder if I can sell them to Jowan? He's gullible enough…"

On the rose's unspoken 'suggestion', Alistair shifted the prints to the pile designated 'J'. Then he reached for the last of Duncan's things; a battered lockbox that had the lock practically falling off it. Inside, was a sheaf of papers, bound by waxed string. Sifting through them he was slightly disappointed to find they were mostly business documents; requests from the general public to have cellars cleared out or noisy attics investigated. There was a folded inventory of the items stored in a certain Denerim warehouse, some receipts and a couple of odd missives from a gentleman identifying himself as Levi Dryden.

_Dryden…Dryden…_Now where had he heard the name before?

He returned the documents to the lockbox and leant back, stretching out his legs while wiggling his feet to encourage the circulation back into his legs. He turned to the rose. "Well, that's it," he told it. "That's the last of it."

He noted that the pile of things to be discarded was the largest of them all. It was depressing to think that the evidence of the lives of a handful of brave, dead men would end up as refuse.

"What do we do now?" He asked the rose – and shook his head. "I _know _we should be preparing for Amaranthine. It's not like I'm not being asked that question every day. It's just that…" He sighed. "Having escaped being made king, I really don't relish the idea of being in charge of a bunch of nobles who would see me as someone's upstart bastard. I had enough of that during my time at the monastery and I'm not keen to rekindle resentment over my station in life again – King's decree or not".

Since his status as Warden Commander of Ferelden had been confirmed by the First Warden, King Fergus had been pushing for him to take control of the Arling – and soon. While it was currently being administered by its Seneschal, Amaranthine had been too long without an Arl and the Banns in the area were showing signs of restlessness. Riordan had not been able to stay. He had his own post to return to, once he had delivered the store of Archdemon blood to Weisshaupt. With his departure, Alistair's shield and excuse to stay in Denerim had also gone.

Alistair did think of going to Weisshaupt with Riordan. He'd always wanted to see the headquarters of the Grey Wardens carved into the side of a mountain. He'd heard about the Anderfels from that great, gruff Gregor chappie and wanted to find out whether Anders _were _as unfriendly as they were reputed to be. He'd wanted to walk down the halls where long-gone Wardens had gone, sift through the old Griffon eyries, maybe pick up some fossilised Griffon poo as a souvenir.

But he'd stayed in Denerim. Sometimes, he'd head into the city. No one really questioned why the dishevelled young man who bore a striking resemblance to the late king wanted to join a work gang. He'd only stopped volunteering because once people knew who he was, they wanted him to tell The Story and it was not a story he was willing to tell.

And then word had gotten around to the king that the Warden Commander had some free time on his hands…Alistair still resisted of course, though not openly. Defying the King's decree was treason after all. Were Duncan alive he would have made a good argument over why Grey Wardens shouldn't hold titles. He'd always been adamant about Wardens having no distractions from their Wardenly duties, but Alistair had never been any good at debate. He'd prefer to just hit people over the head and tell them to shut up – or try to tickle them and make them laugh. He doubted either technique would work on the Banns in Amaranthine...though it did occur to him that it would be amusing to try.

He sat, wracked in thought for some kind of argument, any argument for his next meeting with the king. What _would _Duncan say? His eye fell on the bound correspondence. _Dryden…_Hadn't there been a Warden Commander named Dryden?

He sorted through the letters, removing the ones from Levi Dryden; reading through them more carefully. As he recalled, Sophia Dryden hadn't just been Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, she had also held Soldiers Peak – she was the reason why the Wardens were ejected from Ferelden – and the reason why Duncan held the 'no title' line.

_Interesting. _The letter was more than a request for assistance against Darkspawn – which were only mentioned in passing. The more recently dated correspondence indicated Duncan had agreed to at least meet with the man.

"Well, I could do that," Alistair told the rose. "Soldier's Peak," he murmured. It was Grey Warden business. And Grey Warden business had to be sorted out before Arling business. But…Soldiers Peak was in the north.

"That's…_sort_ of on the way to Amaranthine…" Alistair thought the rose looked sceptical. "Well all right, it's 'sort of' on the way to Amaranthine the way Gwaren is on the way to _Orzammar._ Look at it this way: the Arling has been waiting this long for someone to take over, they can wait a couple of weeks more, right?"

He picked up the tumbler and rose. "You're coming too, my love?" A tight frown formed between his brows. "Well, I suppose no, I won't be going alone. I could take Zevran with me, and Oghren is still in the city I think. Cullen's been doing her 'duty' at the Royal kennels...I think they'd release her to me." He'd have liked to have Shale and Wynne along too, but the two of them had gone on a long trip to Tevinter. He didn't expect to see either of them until at least next year…

The logistics of travel firing up the neurons in his too-long inactive brain, Alistair got to his feet.

He looked down at the tumbler in his hand, "What?" he asked the rose. "What do you mean?" He gave a single sigh of resignation. "Very well, I _suppose _Jowan must come…if _you _insist…But just so you know – I'm doing it under protest."

Turning to leave the room, Alistair happened to catch his expression in the small shaving mirror on the wall opposite. The tousled-haired, unshaven, red-eyed horror that gazed back at him would have been a shock if Alistair hadn't seen it every day since he had woken up in this room, heavily bandaged and feeling as though every bone in his body had been broken and then pushed through his skin from the inside out.

The shaggy mane of hair that he'd grown made him look wilder than a native of the Korcari swamps and the beard itched like nobody's business, but he didn't see the point in doing anything about it. Extra hair didn't affect his ability to swing a sword and shield.

"Very well," he told the rose in a resigned voice. "I'll wash…at the very least…just for you." Placing a tender kiss on a petal, Alistair left the room to complete trip preparations.

-oo-


	2. Love's Lost

-oo-

**Chapter 2 - Love's Lost**

"Did you think to leave me behind?"

Alistair hoisted his shoulder pack higher, staring down at the speaker. He noticed her hair was longer. She wore it with two long braids looping demurely over her ears with the rest hanging free below her shoulders. She was dressed in Chantry robes, and yet managed to make the drab, faded uniform seem stylish. As she looked hopefully up at him with her bright blue eyes, Alistair was reminded of the first time he had met her. He was struck by her then as he was now, but that memory not only had rejection attached to it, but another set of eyes of deep chocolate brown above a mischievous, winsome smile, so he continued to walk.

"How rude, Alistair! Will you not even acknowledge me? We were companions for over a year. We fought together, laughed together, cried together…"

"If you break into song," Alistair warned her, "I swear I will shove you upside down into that ditch over there."

Leliana pouted. She pouted at Alistair's back, then she pouted at Zevran, who leered at her helpfully as he went past. She pouted at Oghren who burped encouragingly at her; at Jowan who looked as though any association with him would earn her instant unpopularity points - and finally she pouted at Cullen, who gave her the equivalent of a canine shrug.

"Well, I'm coming anyway!" she called after them. "You'll need someone to…" Look pretty? Sing for them? She couldn't cook, she preferred ranged combat and didn't like getting her boots dirty, but she refused to be left out of a Grey Warden adventure. Sprinting back to the Denerim gates, she snatched up her pack and then pelted after the departing group, careful to stay close to Cullen.

The Mabari gave her a look of long-suffering sacrifice, that told Leliana _she _wouldn't be here, if the kids weren't being troublesome at home.

"Oh?" Leliana asked Cullen in interest. "You are a mother now? Congratulations!"

Cullen shot her a look that told her motherhood wasn't all it had been advertised to be – not when you had nine of them at a time – nine sets of claws and nine sets of very sharp teeth. Humans, that look told her, had it _easy_. Leliana cheerfully chose to ignore that look and continued.

"I must write a song in celebration. A song that will be sung across Ferelden; a song of the mighty and brave Mabari – who fought at the sides of the Heroes of Ferelden - and the legacy she has left behind!"

Cullen snorted her opinion on that. Glaring at Leliana, she pointed her muzzle towards the ditch running alongside the road in warning.

Understanding the message, Leliana pouted again. Being spurned by the _dog _hurt her inbuilt need to be friends with everyone. Her eyes automatically found Jowan's slumped shoulders. Well, not _everyone_, exactly. She wasn't quite desperate enough for _that _company _yet._

-oo-

_Maker above I'm so hungry…_

Her first experience of the Deep Roads had been confused and sketchy with lyrium screaming in her veins and the Archdemon screeching in her head. Her second experience was still confused but this time she could feel the air and the dust and the gravel beneath her feet. It was hot and claustrophobic and there were far more uncertain pools of darkness awaiting a misstep or a hasty turn for someone not paying enough attention. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd been turned around every time she encountered a dead end, or a looping tunnel.

If she had magic, she'd simply chew the lyrium off the walls and then blast her way through, but there was no magic. No magic, no provisions and nothing to guide her but bewildered determination, an empty stomach and a growing supply of prickling fear.

She didn't know how long she'd been wandering around down here. All she had to measure the passing of time with were the growls of her stomach – and they had been increasing in frequency and discomfort. How did Dwarves mark the days? She wished she had thought to ask Oghren.

She picked her way towards a patch of phosphorescent vegetation on the tunnel wall, thinking dark thoughts about the means by which she found herself ruthlessly dumped and helplessly lost in the depths of the Deep Roads. She didn't know what Urthemiel had meant by 'a gift'. What gift? Was this its idea of a Satinalia prank? Did Old Gods celebrate Satinalia? Perhaps the Little Green Satinalia Goose _was _an Old God originally. That would make sense – she could imagine Urthemiel leaving rotten onions and dead rats at the foot of the beds of every naughty child in Ferelden. It would be something Urthemiel would _do._

_Oh…I could go for a rotten onion right now…_

Being returned to this plane of existence in an unfriendly place, with no food and no weapons felt more like a punishment than a gift. If it had been a gift, she would have been sent to some place warm and comfortable. Some place with a bed and big, fluffy pillows and unlimited access to the cheese platter. She reached out to scratch at the phosphorescence on the wall with her nail. Much as she didn't want to admit it, Merran wondered whether she might have – maybe – perhaps – sort of – been _thrown out _of the Fade because she'd displeased the spirit of the Old God in some way.

It wasn't as if the banished Archdemon had sat her down on a Fade log and told her: _look…here's the thing…_It was all – 'oh, I'm sending you back, see ya!' It was this lack of information, a hint at smugness that led her to think this was a form of punishment.

But what _had_ she done? She'd thought the two of them had been getting along swimmingly. They'd had some lovely conversations together; Urthemiel had tried to teach her Plonk, she had tried to teach the Archdemon Where's Mr Ferret…

Oh, the honeymoon was definitely over and she didn't even get to eat the cake.

_Cake…Blessed Andraste…! CAKE…_

The stuff on the walls – as she suspected - was some kind of algae…edible algae? Herbalism classes at the Tower had been a bit scant of information on Dwarven plant life. She licked the wall, her face screwing up in a grimace. Yes. It was awful. How desperately hungry was she to eat this off the wall?

Death by starvation was only marginally worse than death by Darkspawn. Then again, she reminded herself that if she were a man, death by Darkspawn would be a definite fate. Being female, there were far worse things than death in the Deep Roads…far, far worse things than starving to death.

-oo-

Leliana strummed quietly on her travelling lute, keeping her voice low so only she could hear it. She had already been told, _warned _not to sing. Her! Not sing! Oh, what was their problem?

It was a boys' club. Only Zevran had deemed her important enough to converse with and his conversation had been guarded, with none of the usual flirtatious banter. Oghren had belched his way through a liquid dinner, before falling over backwards. The men had ignored the dwarf, stepping over his body if they had needed to cross from one side of camp to the other. Granted, she had come along uninvited, but there was no reason to treat her like she didn't exist. What had she done to have earned their dislike?

Through the flames, Leliana could see Jowan brooding on the other side of Zevran, well away from Alistair. The relationship between the two men appeared to have soured since her expedition for the Ashes, so at least she was not alone in being disliked by someone in the party. She was curious as to the reason behind the estrangement between the two Grey Wardens, but not so curious to risk being snarled at by either man.

A few minutes later Jowan stood and disappeared into his tent muttering 'goodnight' under his breath. Zevran watched him briefly with raised eyebrows but said nothing, continuing to sharpen his throwing knives on the rune-carved whetstone he said was lucky. As the elf did not show any inclination towards social discourse, she shifted her attention to Alistair.

The Grey Warden sat staring into the fire, the flames reflected on his shaggy mane of hair and beard in dancing slivers of red and gold. He was still in his armour – an impressive set of plate armour with the stamp of the Grey Warden griffon on the chestplate. Leliana had been shocked by his appearance at first. If it hadn't been for those remarkably intense amber eyes, she would not have recognised him at all. Gone was the close-cropped, slightly spiky hair; the clean-shaven chin. In their place was a wavy mass that brushed the tops of his broad shoulders and fell carelessly across his forehead. His beard had been trimmed and kept neat, but the overall effect made the Grey Warden look much older, much less sulky, more brooding, manlier and quite frankly…_sexy._

Leliana pulled herself up short. She had never been attracted to Alistair before. Little boys had never interested her, even if the awkwardness had appeal at times, she had found it frustrating and annoying talking to him. She had much more appreciation for men like that fascinating Arl Teagan. The man had smoulder down to fine art. Young men like Alistair was too much trouble; too much work and in any case, anyone with eyes to see would have recognised at a glance that the young mage had been more his style.

The Alistair back then, anyway.

The Alistair now…Leliana cocked her head to the side, noting the beat in her chest appeared to have increased …slightly. Hm, yes. The Alistair before her now was doing unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant things to her insides.

As though sensing her scrutiny, he looked up, scowling at her through the flames.

"You're still here," he stated curtly.

Leliana smiled sweetly, unperturbed by his gruff demeanour. "I'm still here," she confirmed.

"Why?" he growled. "You have no idea where we're going, or why. Why bother?"

She shrugged. "Why not? My expedition was successful. I would have been at a loose end. Why not travel once more with my companions?"

He grunted at her.

"So?" she asked. "Where are we going? To slay a dragon? To save a princess trapped in the highest tower in the middle of a lake of burning lava?"

"You have odd ideas," he said, sounding like the Qunari that had once travelled with them.

Leliana smiled again. She had been the mage's friend. When she had been alive, Leliana was happy to encourage mage and templar to form their own little bubble of happiness. But the mage had left this world and she could see the gaping wound left behind. Wounds should be healed. They should not be left untreated to fester…

She knew he had once imagined himself in love with her. It had turned out to have been a boy's first crush and nothing more, but if there had once been a spark, it might be interesting to see whether there was any chance of re-igniting that spark; perhaps turn it into something more…heated.

There were certain skills she had learned as a Bard to lure prey and she drew on those skills now, testing the Grey Warden for his resistance to her well-practised charms. Laying her lute aside, she leant forward ever…so…slightly, allowing the neckline of her robes to gape. He continued to glare but by the darker colour suffusing his cheeks, Leliana knew he'd taken a nibble at her hook.

His brows snapped down suddenly and he rose to tower over her.

"If you must know, we'll be assisting a friend of the Wardens complete some family history. No slaying of princesses or rescuing of dragons will ensue, _Sister_."

"Oh, how noble!"

"If you say so."

His eyes travelled to the flames of the fire, but Leliana had detected just the slightest drag away from her décolletage. She too stood, wondering what it would be like to tangle her fingers in that mane of hair.

She nodded agreeably. "Well, I look forward to it."

Alistair grunted again. Saying nothing more, he turned towards his tent. Leliana licked her lips, thinking how much fun this particular trip was going to be, when she heard a soft huffing noise.

Looking downwards, she located the origin of the sound. Zevran and _Cullen _were laughing at her. The elf slapped his leg in high humour, wiping tears from his face. Waggling his finger at her, he chuckled, "Thank you, _Sister _Leliana. I have not been so amused since Jowan's pickle barrel incident."

"I fail to see what you find amusing," Leliana stated with forced calm, internally stewing.

"Oh, I am sure you know of what I mean." In one fluid movement, Zevran was upright and standing mere inches from her. He reached over and with little warning ran a single finger along her collarbone causing involuntary goosepimples to prickle on the surface of her skin.

"I like watching an amateur at work," he purred. "I would offer some advice, but I fear much enjoyment would be lost from not seeing you try and…fail."

Leliana did not know her jaw had dropped until he closed her mouth for her, teeth clicking together noisily. And then he leant in closer, doing something with his eyelids that made Teagan Guerrin's smoulders look like ice-storms. His smile was slow, lazily creeping over his chiselled face. Something flickered at the corner of her eye. She had no idea what he was about to do, mesmerised by his golden gaze, until he'd flicked her nose hard, sharp pain bringing instant tears to her eyes.

"Good night Sister. May you dream of better strategies."

Laughing, he left her standing immobile by the fire. When she had regained use of her limbs, she looked down again, to see Cullen lying on her back, paws akimbo…_snickering _at her_…_

She stamped her foot at the Mabari – and the Elf. "Ooh!" she hissed angrily. "Amateur…_indeed_…!"

-oo-


	3. Old Ties

-oo-

**Chapter 3 – Old Ties**

It was easy to spot him. Only a merchant would wait in the middle of nowhere with little else but a small cart and pony. Even if he appeared slightly nervous, Alistair thought he didn't look nearly as nervous as he should be. This may be post-Blight Ferelden, but it did not mean that the Darkspawn had gone forever. Small groups of Darkspawn still travelled across the land, still spreading their taint wherever they went, still killing, still destroying…and still taking women when the opportunity arose.

It was one of the reasons why he preferred Leliana not to be with them. Jowan was a good magic-user, but his preference was for closer combat now. While they engaged Darkspawn up close, no one could stand by the Bard to watch over her. She may have fought with them before, but they had a larger party then – and four very powerful mages…which brought him to the other reason; a reason he had no inclination to visit.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Alistair approached the rangy merchant, hand extended. Levi smiled, coming forward enthusiastically.

"Warden! Or should I say Warden Commander? Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. This is an honour, Ser."

Alistair shook his head. "The honour is mine – and it's Alistair. You…were a friend of Duncan's so I understand?"

Dryden chuckled good-naturedly. "I was one of the ones that brought the Wardens back to Ferelden – or one of them, I should say. There was a whole group of us that petitioned the king to let the Grey Wardens back into the country – and just as well too."

Alistair blinked, struck by this information. "Then…" he said slowly. "You've known Duncan for awhile?"

"Awhile? Oh yes. We first met when Warden Commander Genevieve brought the Wardens back into Ferelden. He was a bit of scamp in those days, Duncan – and we were both of an age. It were natural that the two of us strike up a friendship."

"_That _long ago?" Alistair's eyes widened, thinking Duncan had been older than he had thought…"But…the Warden Commander then..." Alistair tried to recall his knowledge of this period in Ferelden history. Chantry lessons on Grey Wardens had been sketchy, but he did recall the name Genevieve in connection to King Maric's mysterious disappearance many years ago. Despite allegations the King had been kidnapped, he returned from whatever adventure he'd been on with the Wardens hale and hearty. To this day none knew what particular mission he'd been on, but it had caused him to rescind the ban that his ancestor had imposed on the Wardens. Alistair figured that Maric _could _have been the only one with the power to do so. Sophia Dryden may have been an important and influential Arlessa in her time, but she was still found guilty of conspiring against the king.

Well…That was Ferelden all over, wasn't it?

Now, if only he could remember whether Sophia was a Grey Warden before or _after _she was Arlessa…He could certainly pump her great-great grandson for information later. He wondered whether he could use it to shore up his own argument against holding the title of Arl.

"Oh, aye," Levi continued, breaking Alistair once more out of his thoughts. "Warden Commander Genevieve was an _Orlesian_, if that's what you wanted to know," he confirmed wryly. "Weren't any Ferelden Grey Wardens left in Ferelden by then. Most were hunted or hounded out of the country after Great-great Grandmother's death, along with every other Dryden…well, had to leave really. The name of Dryden was mud as far as the nobles were concerned. We made good elsewhere, but Ferelden was always in our blood and we came back. Duncan and I spoke about an expedition to Soldier's Peak a couple of years back. Told me he was keen to recover some lost Warden history. The two of us were to form an expedition after…well, the Blight happened and then…I heard about Ostagar…" Levi hung his head briefly. He gave it a small shake. "We lost some good men that day in Ostagar and Duncan was the best of them all, Maker rest his soul."

Alistair bowed his head respectfully. The mention of Duncan's name no longer caused him pain. Sorting through his old mentor's belongings had helped, though it did seem to be the season for revelations about the old Warden Commander. First the naughty prints and now he'd met someone that had been almost like a brother to Duncan. Alistair was still having trouble getting his head to accept the word 'scamp' in relation to the old Grey Warden, even if it was actually…nice to know that Duncan had been young once. Well, of _course _he had been young. Warden Commanders didn't spring out of the ground fully aged like soft cheese, but…well…

"Anyway," Levi raised his head with a deep sigh. "Duncan thought Soldier's Peak might be important to the Order. Old King Arland might have taken the title and land from the Drydens, but Duncan still thought the place could have strategic and symbolic importance to the Grey Wardens. Good King Maric must have agreed with him too, to be willing to return the lands, though the title doesn't exist anymore."

"I see…" Alistair murmured. "And this place – it's somewhere to the north, right? Near Highever…?"

Levi laughed; a great belly laugh that was infectious, even if Alistair felt stupid for having to practically admit his ignorance of Ferelden geography, despite criss-crossing the length and breadth of the country during the Blight. Clearly there were still places he had yet to discover in his own land.

"Don't feel bad, son," Levi assured him. "I'm surprised anyone knows about Soldiers Peak. No one's been there for decades, so they say – and it's not exactly easy to get to. I spent the last few years mapping out the tunnels to get there. When I finally found a route I contacted Duncan."

"And what kind of agreement…exactly, did you have with Duncan?" Alistair asked cautiously, wondering whether it was more than history that he would end up looking for.

Levi laughed again. "To be honest, neither of us knew what we'd find up there. All I want is some kind of proof Sophia Dryden was a hero; that she wasn't the villain that Arland made her out to be – he had his reputation after all, and not a good one from what I've heard. If I can restore some honour to my family, that'll be more than I could hope for. As to the rest…" He shrugged. "You and your fellow Wardens can have whatever treasure might still be up there. Little is known about Great-great Grandmother Sophia's last days with her Grey Wardens. Perhaps the real treasure will be valuable Warden history; and we'll find that the Wardens weren't the baddies they were made out to be either. We know now they should never have been driven out of the country."

Alistair nodded his head slowly. Completing Duncan's task had its appeal. This was quite apart from the fact that it would delay his presentation to the Seneschal at Vigil's Keep. He'd been to Highever to find some trace of the old Warden Commander but had found little evidence Duncan had ever lived there. If he'd gone to Val Royeux, he would have found more of his old mentor than in the country of his birth.

In many ways, it annoyed Alistair that for all that Duncan had done for Ferelden, there had been little acknowledgement of his existence. If it had not been for the man standing before him, Alistair would wonder whether the old Warden Commander had ever lived in this country.

"I will help you, Mr Dryden," Alistair told the other man. "It would be my honour to fulfil Duncan's promise to you. It would be a small return of favour for your family's loyalty to the Grey Wardens."

"Really?" Levi grinned widely.I am glad! Thank you – and the honour is mine. I had really thought you might not…but never mind that. First up, I'll show you some maps, eh?

-oo-

The tunnel opened out onto an old road. From the piles of dirt, the advanced age of the skeletons and the musty smell, Merran knew this was another dead end – and had been a dead end for a long time. She stepped out onto the road anyway, hoping to find a road sign or a marker to give her an idea where she was. Her stomach grumbled painfully and she was dizzy with thirst; the back of her throat feeling like parchment. Sinking tiredly to the kerb, Merran dropped her head into the well of her arms. If she had magic, she would simply cast a death spell on herself, but of course she _had _no magic – and that bothered her more than anything. It bothered her more than the fact that she was tired and gut-twistingly hungry. And it bothered her more than being sent back at all.

Magic had always been part of her existence. It had shaped her life. It had given her opportunities, opened doors, toasted cheese on nice, thick slabs of bread…_oh, there I go again with the food thoughts…_

Straightening, she rested her back against the carved wall, tilting her head upwards. Soaring high above, the curved ceiling did indeed look like a jigsaw; intricate, interlocking tiles carved between impressively large stone arches. Dwarves really liked to build on the big side…compensating perhaps? She began chuckling, even though it hurt to do so. There seemed little to do except stay here and let death overtake her. Maybe she should hold her breath? Or find a rock to hit her head against? Or no, maybe she didn't want to die in pain. But what else could she…? She heard a faint rumble - a little further down the wall exploded outwards suddenly, pelting her in a shower of broken rock and burning dust.

Through the haze of debris, figures appeared. Merran squinted, stumbling to her feet, coughing as the dust choked her parched throat.

"By the stone!" she heard a voice exclaim. "You went and made a bloody wrong turn! This is a dead end!"

"It was a fair mistake!" another voice replied defensively. "These maps are older than the wrinkles on your face, and just as misleading."

"These roads_ are_ as old as these maps, you sodding son of a…what was that?"

The dust cleared just enough to see through. Merran stared at the group standing before her. She recognised the insignia stamped onto their dull iron armour – the _Legion of the Dead. _Relief washed through her. She wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. She wasn't going to die after all! The Legion knew the Deep Roads like she knew the inside of the Tower of Magi. They'd – at the very least – be able to tell her where the heck she was, maybe even lead her out to the surface. She was certainly safer in their company than anywhere else, though so far…Darkspawn hadn't been a real problem for her. The effects of the demise of the Archdemon perhaps?

Most of the gritty fog had cleared. Merran peered more closely at the leader. He looked familiar…It took her a few moments, his name rushing to her lips, just as he spoke her own name.

"Kardol!" "Warden!" the two exclaimed at the same time.

Kardol however, did not look pleased to see her. The relief she felt evaporated under the wary glare the Legion Commander pinned her with. She had taken a step forward, but she began backing away as Kardol raised his war axe; the threatening set of his shoulders and the shifting of his feet the unmistakeable stance of someone about to engage an enemy.

"Stand fast, ghoul!" he growled menacingly. "I know the Warden's dead – and I'll not be fooled by her Shade!" and then he charged.

-oo-

Tunnels. What was it about tunnels that really made his skin crawl and every cell in his body tense? If it wasn't so blasted cold in these hills he wouldn't camp in here, but it was either this or freeze to death outside. The air felt much like it did in the Frostback Mountains, with far more damp.

These tunnels had been used as campgrounds before, judging by the layers of campfire soot on the walls. Their own fire had begun to burn down – the others having turned in hours ago - except for Zevran, who'd volunteered for first watch. The last Alistair had seen of him, he'd been an indistinct, dark shape at the mouth of the cave. When he'd looked back, the shape had disappeared and all he could see were stars and darkness.

Alistair shoved another log onto the fire, kicking it into place with the toe of his boot. He'd removed his armour and felt – as he always did – vulnerable and incomplete without it. Once the new log had caught, he headed towards his own tent, keen to have something between himself and the outside world; even if it was only the thickness of canvas. He lowered himself onto his bedroll, sitting in the near-darkness. After a while he lay down, reaching under his pack-pillow for his Rose. He began telling it about Levi Dryden and the funny stories he'd relayed about Duncan in his younger days; about the scrapes the two young men had gotten into; about the headaches the junior Grey Warden had caused his Warden Commander; her laughter ringing in his head. He talked about Soldiers Peak and the cold and the snow – and the detailed maps Levi had put together over many years of dedicated searching.

"You'd hate the cold," he sighed, tucking the Rose under his chin. "It feels like being frozen from the outside in. Now I know how a victim of one of your ice spells felt like." He paused, tracing a single finger around the edge of one of the petals. He didn't need to see his Rose in the dark – he knew the shape of every petal like he knew every part of his armour. "I miss you, my love…you have no idea how much…"

_Huh…what is this? Emotional one-upmanship? Is this the part where I say 'Oh, but _I _miss you so much more, snooky-ookums'? And then you say…_

"Have I told you lately how much a mood killer you are?"

…'_Oh but snuggly-wuggly diddums, it is _I _that misses you more', and then it'll be my turn to…_

Alistair reached out in the darkness, finding soft skin at his chilly fingertips. He didn't need to see her in the dark. He knew every shape; every curve of her limbs and how they fit together, as well as he knew himself.

"And I find that the best way," he whispered into the darkness, "of proving how much I miss you…is to not say anything at all…"

_Oh…you're such a Mr Smarty-pants know-it-all…_her voice began in his head - and because he knew how everything fit together, he could home into her smart-mouth with an accuracy of a few millimetres, slicing off whatever else she had been about to say with the near accurate application of his own mouth. The moment he began to kiss her, he could feel her begin to melt away as she always did, but he held on, desperate to keep her here for just a bit longer; hands weaving through her hair; his legs pinning hers – and it felt like it was working too. She began to feel more real, more solid. The skin he had at his fingertips was real skin. He could smell her; feel her warm breath on his neck…"Merran…"

"Alistair…"

_No…_.

He opened his eyes. The woman that lay beneath him was not his Rose. She was taller and even in the dim campfire light, he could see her tousled hair was not dark, but a fiery red.

Springing backwards, his first impulse was to grab his sword. The sound of sharpened metal leaving its scabbard was obscenely loud in the darkened tent.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he growled.

"I…I thought I heard a noise, and I thought you..." Leliana fumbled for convincing words and found none.

"Get out."

"Alistair, really, I…"

"_GET OUT!_"

Leliana scooted backwards, the force of his fury propelling her out of the tent. She didn't see the figure in the dark until she'd bumped into him, her hands automatically going to the twin daggers she kept strapped to her belt - but he was faster; seizing her wrists and disarming her before she had time to draw another breath.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk" he clucked his tongue at her. "It appears that if this particular episode does not teach you a valuable lesson, I would suggest _most _strongly that you return to your tent, to think hard on your actions tonight – awkward glances over toast and coffee as we break our fast in the morning would be most…awkward, would you not agree? Unless of _course,_ you would like some…company tonight?"

"No." Leliana took a step backwards. "No thank you."

"Ah well," Zevran sighed melodramatically, hand still grasping one of her daggers over his heart. "Your loss…"

-oo-


	4. Clearing the  Air

-oo-

**Chapter 4 – Clearing the Air**

Alistair awoke to the sound and smells of cooking; Oghren and Levi sat around the campfire, thick slices of bacon sizzling in one large frypan, eggs bubbling and popping in another. Seeing him emerge from his tent, Oghren hailed him with a wave and a hairy grin.

"The sleeping beauty awakens!" Oghren announced, chuckling over his bacon until a lump of fat exploded in the pan, setting fire to his beard. As he swatted at his melting beard hair, Alistair hunkered down beside the dwarf. He wasn't particularly hungry. Odd how his appetite wasn't quite the same as it used to be…

"Have you seen Sister Leliana this morning?" he asked.

Oghren looked askance at the Grey Warden, turning over couple of slices in his pan with a long-handled knife. _Sister _Leliana, now was it? He cleared his throat.

"So…uh…you and Leli…?" Oghren began, to be interrupted irritably by Alistair.

"What? 'Me and Leli?' No. There is no '…and Leli' and there will never be. And for the record, we are _not _polishing the midnight still, forging the moaning oats, rolling the velvet hat, tapping the beast with two horns or whatever colourful euphemism you can come up with."

There was an awkward pause, then Oghren harrumphed. "Well…actually, I was going to ask whether the two of you were on speaking terms. I wasn't about to suggest the both of you were having comfort sex."

"Oh." Alistair frowned at the bacon, feeling his neck grow warm. Not for the first time did he feel grateful for the beard. "Well then."

"Yeah," Oghren confirmed. "But boy, you gotta work on those euphemisms yourself. 'forging the moaning oats'…what kind of a confused thunder-humpin' idiot would do that?"

Alistair glared harder at the bacon. He no longer felt the need to respond.

"Anyway, _Sister _Leliana's outside – teaching the Mage a few tricks – hm, heh." He gave a wicked chuckle. "Maybe you'll find the two of them 'laying a few bricks', 'pumpin' some uglies…' heh or even…"

"All right. All right. I get it. Thank you. I'll just go now. Thanks." Rising to his feet, Alistair caught Levi's wide-eyed expression. The man looked caught between horror, fascination and regret he had no pen and parchment at hand to take notes. His attention had been so fixed on their conversation, he had failed to realise the eggs were burning, until Oghren pointed out helpfully, that his 'fried tits were on fire'. Wisely, Alistair left the two men, to seek more normal conversation outside.

In a slightly less inclined open space, Jowan and Leliana were sparring, Zevran watching the two of them closely, from time to time, offering advice or nodding in approval. Alistair came to stand beside the Elf.

"He is improving, no?" Zevran spoke, just as Leliana feinted, stabbing low with her other arm. Jowan ignored it, blocked her second strike with his shortsword, stepping aside deftly as she countered, bringing his sword around in an arc that caught her dagger with a heavy blow, knocking it from her hand and sending it flying between the two spectators. Alistair and Zevran watched the deadly blade spin to a stop in tandem.

Alistair shrugged, eyeing Jowan with a frown. "He was going easy on her. That feint was a bit too obvious – even for Leliana."

"Hm." Zevran slid the large Grey Warden a sly look. "Perhaps you would like to spar with the Mage yourself?"

"I'll pass, thanks. I don't want to damage our only healer before we find out what's at the end of these tunnels."

"Suit yourself."

"I will, at that."

Bard and Mage shook hands. Neither combatant looked tired, but Alistair was pleased with Jowan's progress. It was not surprising, given the teacher and Jowan's dedication to his training since Redcliffe. He wondered whether – no, he _knew – _Jowan had been keen to augment his magical abilities with sword skills since their 'discussion' about blood magic all those months ago. Even his appearance was not the same as when they had been travelling during the Blight. Jowan had cut his hair short and he no longer dressed like a battle-ready farmer, favouring a combination of red-steel and silverite chainmail,.

It was as though he had been consciously discarding the old image of 'blood mage' piece by piece – and one of those pieces included all traces of his relationship with Morrigan.

The slumbering Templar in Alistair cheered for the obvious reason. Despite assurances from their best friend, Alistair had never truly trusted the marsh witch. The pragmatic Grey Warden in him was still angry that anyone could conspire with a witch to create another, corruptible Old God. This was something Jowan could _never _escape from. Not in this lifetime or the next…and yet the human being in him felt guilty. He had no doubt Jowan had loved Morrigan, even if he tried to hide the fact. Neither party had advertised their relationship in the months that it had formed and failed. Alistair had no idea whether Morrigan felt the same – he seriously doubted it, but Jowan had lost someone he cared for…no, he had lost _two _women that he cared for and no one had showed him the same compassion that he had been shown.

In addition, he'd been left to cope as best as he could with the usual Grey Warden perks post-Joining, such as nightmares, insatiable hunger and a significantly shortened lifespan, among all the other wonderful things that being a member of the Order granted. The fact that he had survived a Joining in such close proximity to the Archdemon and the horde spoke a lot about the mage's resilience; his ability to survive the rest without a mentor to guide him spoke more.

Alistair had to admit that if Duncan had been alive today, he would have torn strips out of Jowan for his actions – but he would have also flayed him for not supporting his fellow brother-Warden.

He had come to speak to Leliana – to try and clear the air between them and get some things straight. Instead as the sparring partners began to pack their weapons away, Alistair approached Jowan.

"Jowan…" He extended a hand to the crouching mage. "Can I have a word?"

The mage looked up, cool blue eyes wary. "Why? Is it 'yell at Jowan' time again? I thought that was Tuesday."

Alistair had been about to say something funny. Instead he swallowed the quip and shook his head. "Just a quiet word," he promised.

Searching the other man's face for traces of irony, Jowan found none. He stood up, following the Warden Commander a short distance away from the Bard and Assassin. The wind blew across the snowscape, whistling through the trees, bringing with it the smell of burnt breakfast, reminding Jowan he might have gorged himself on bread and cheese on waking, but he was ravenously hungry now.

"I hope we don't miss breakfast," he muttered.

"No, no," Alistair assured him quickly. "I just wanted to…Has anyone talked to you about what happens after the Joining?"

Jowan's head swivelled from the cave mouth to the man in front of him. "What?"

"About…changes in yourself. I wasn't too sure whether you'd approached Riordan after…well, after you underwent the Joining."

"No," Jowan refused to look at Alistair. "He was…understandably…upset that he'd been _fooled_ into performing it." Alistair nodded. He knew this. Despite Riordan's initial anger at the way Jowan's Joining had been undertaken, he'd been unperturbed by the fact that it had taken place at all. In fact the older Grey Warden had been very helpful in pointing out that if Jowan had been 'allowed' to undertake the Joining in the first place, he wouldn't have tried to do it in such an underhanded way.

Alistair had never been able to explain why.

How do you tell a seasoned Grey Warden who lived the 'in death, sacrifice' creed that if Jowan's Joining had been openly countenanced, it would have led to the creation of a child with the soul of an Old God? Well, it had happened anyway – and none of them had seen it coming. Except, perhaps, Morrigan.

It was pointless to keep harping on about it. What was done was done. What they needed to do now was find a way to deal with it…not continue being angry about it…even if Alistair still wanted to beat the living daylights out of Jowan as he stood looking both defiant and repentant in front of him now.

"Well, so…" Alistair shifted his feet. "Increased appetite?"

Jowan looked at him, "What about it?"

"No one knows why," Alistair explained patiently. "Some Grey Wardens think it might be because the Taint is working us harder. We eat more than your average person. A _lot _more." _Though for me, _Alistair frowned internally. _Not so much anymore._

"So I turn into a glutton," Jowan acknowledged. "What else?"

"Nightmares," _and not much of them either…_"We 'tap into the group mind' of the horde – or at least when there is a horde. When there isn't a Blight, the nightmares come from small groups of Darkspawn nearby. During a Blight, we dream of the Archdemon. It calls to us." _Or it used to…is most of this advice redundant now?_

Alistair gave his head a shake. "How have your dreams been?" he asked cautiously.

Jowan shrugged. "They're…I think I know when there are Darkspawn about. The dreams are worse then. Not so much up here, but after the Denerim battle…"

"Really?" Alistair asked, surprised. He didn't remember any such thing – but then he wouldn't, he reminded himself. He had been unconscious for a couple of weeks after…the battle.

"So what else?" Jowan asked.

"Um, we can detect Darkspawn and they can detect us. In the same way, Grey Wardens can also sense each other." He frowned suddenly. He hadn't even thought of it before. He'd never been able to 'sense' Jowan – well, apart from that night in Cousland estate when Alistair realised Jowan had undergone the Joining on the sly. Post battle, Alistair had not…He held up his hand in front of Jowan's face.

"What are you…?" Jowan began, but Alistair wasn't listening, frowning deeply.

"I can't feel you," Alistair said slowly.

"Well, thank goodness for small mercies," Jowan said dryly and not without a touch of appreciation of the fact.

"No, I meant I can't _sense _you. I should be able to. If you were lost, I'd be able to locate you – or at least, I should be able to. But I can't."

"I'm standing right here, Alistair."

"No, I…I used to be able to sense…Her. I even used to be able to feel what she was feeling but I…can't with you. Come to think of it, I don't think I could sense Riordan either." Confusion in his amber eyes, Alistair looked desperately to Jowan. "Can you sense me?"

Jowan shrugged. "I don't know…?" he said cautiously. "What's it supposed to feel like?"

"Like a…tingle…"

"A 'tingle'? Please don't tell me this gets kinky."

"It's hard to describe when you've felt it for so long, it becomes second nature; a prickle at the base of your neck...?"

"Oh a 'prickle'…somehow that sounds even worse than 'tingle'. If you start serenading me and tell me I have lovely eyes, I'm telling you now, I'm reserving the right to hit you with lightning."

"Will you be serious? If you can't _sense _me…"

"Nope. No sensing, tingling, prickling or shivers up my spine. I'm really not that way inclined Alistair, despite what the Elf might say."

"Shut up! I'm trying to say I think I…but that's not possible! That's like saying there's a cure – but there isn't! I must still be Tainted! I must be!"

"Look," Jowan said, folding his arms impatiently. "While I appreciate your telling me all this – really – can we please move on? What else do I have to expect besides being constantly hungry, having heinous, shirt-drenching nightmares and attracting Darkspawn like a picnic attracts ants?'

"Oh…" Alistair waved his hand dismissively, caught up in his own thoughts. "A dramatically shortened lifespan, turning into a ghoul at the end of it, and always being a target for roaming Darkspawn…Did I already say that? What am I going to _do_ about this?"

"A shortened life?" Jowan took a deep breath. "Wonderful. How 'shortened'?"

"Urgh, thirty years if you're lucky – but you Joined during a Blight – it'll be shorter than that."

"Oh. Thank you for breaking that to me gently. Seems to me life as an Apostate on the run had better prospects…"

"Well, _you _had to go and Join on the sneaky – even after we tried to dissuade you!" Alistair accused him.

"Oh? We've come back to that now? Okay, I accept I've been a very naughty boy. I'm paying for my misdeeds. Maker's _blood_…!" Jowan dropped his head into his hands, continuing to swear under his breath.

Alistair fought to keep his anger under control. The reasonable part of him reminded him that Jowan had undergone the Joining with none of these warnings. No one had ever told him the risks – he'd only been told that he could save a life.

"She…" Alistair began, unsure of the correct way to say this. "We couldn't tell you much about the Joining – it's a secret for good reason Jowan. And…Mer…" Why was saying her name so difficult? "M-Merran wanted you to have a normal life – as much as possible – Taint free. To have the kind of life neither of us could have."

Jowan gave a shout of mocking laughter. "'Neither of you could have'?" he practically sneered. "The two of you skipping hand in hand while fighting Darkspawn? That's _not _normal? You were going to marry her – you said so yourself. Happily ever after."

"It would have been a very short life, Jowan," Alistair told him quietly. "Even were she not Tainted since birth, she Joined during the Blight as well and neither of us expected to live beyond the next day, much less years together. We never expected to…marriage was just something to distract us from daily impending death. And we would never have been able to have children. The Taint takes that ability away. We master the Taint, but it masters us, in the end."

He paused, kneading at his temples with his hand. His head ached with the effort of keeping himself from weeping in front of Jowan. He thought he was over this whole…crying thing…clearly he'd been wrong.

"I wanted to give her some happiness in the short time that she had left," he continued. "But she ended up giving me more than I ever did…blast it!" He hastily dashed the tears from his eyes.

"Stop," Jowan grumbled, his voice sounding suspiciously wobbly. "You'll start me off as well."

Alistair gave a watery chuckle. Lifting tear-reddened eyes he rubbed his hand across his face again.

"I also wanted to say: thank you."

"For what?"

"For…_trying_."

In attempt to regain his manly presence, Alistair punched Jowan lightly on the shoulder, while the Mage appeared to square his shoulders, the single sniff was a bit of a giveaway to his true feelings.

"Thank you," Alistair added, slightly more composed. "Thank you for trying to save her."

Jowan stared. And then he nodded. Once. The wind blew again, bringing with it the scent of grease…lovely, tasty, wonderfully flavoursome grease. His stomach growled noisily.

"So…" Alistair's eyebrow rose; back to business. "Breakfast?"

"Breakfast," Jowan agreed "But if all the bacon's gone, I'm still not going to suggest we eat the Dwarf – or the dog."

The two of them started up the hill, by mutual consent giving each other a manly thump on the back. A loud sniffle made them turn. Zevran and Leliana stood nearby – closer than either had expected. Leliana dabbed at her eyes with a lacy, embroidered handkerchief. She fanned herself with it. And Zevran had an odd _look_.

Scowling, Alistair snapped, "What?"

Zevran threw his hands into the air, declaring his innocence of any crime evident or implied. "Oh," he said casually. "Nothing…nothing at all…"

"Good," Alistair growled, and continued up the hill.


	5. Last Stand

-oo-

**Chapter 5 – Last Stand**

The sound of laughter followed her where she went like a persistent, sticky, un-swattable fly.

"Ha, ha, Warden!" Kardol had slapped his thigh, jabbing the head of his battle axe at her. "You should have seen the look on your face! Priceless!"

Merran felt the mockery was worth it for the meal and a drink. Smoked strips of bronto and brackish water had felt like the best meal she had ever had in her entire life. No chef in any of the best establishments in Val Royeux could have concocted a better meal.

Kardol and his Legion of the Dead soldiers had led her out of the dead end back to their camp, stopping only once to rest. By the time they had reached the old ruined towns of Cadash Thaig, she was barely capable of putting one foot ahead of each other. She had fallen onto a convenient thicket of something green and soft, her fatigue-numbed mind not even questioning how something so verdant could exist underground. She must have fallen asleep. When she awoke the dish of smoked meat, along with a waterskin had been placed beside her head. She had eaten gratefully but slowly, lying back for another snooze. When next she awoke, it was to a pair of concerned hazel eyes.

"You okay?"

Merran picked herself up from the mossy carpet, pushing the hair from her face. She felt better, much better but she couldn't imagine what she looked like to these neat Dwarves, used as they were to living in a constantly dusty, gritty environment and yet managing to always look tidy and clean.

The young Dwarf kneeling next to her was no exception. He was smaller and thinner than the others, with apple-blush cheeks and earnest, intelligent eyes. He still wore his armour – not a single dent or nick could be seen on the dulled surface. He had been the one that had been arguing with Kardol in the tunnel. What had been his name? Marmalade? Martin? Marvellous…? Marduk; that was it.

"I'm sorry," Merran grimaced at him. "I'm not being at my best here."

Young Marduk grinned at her. "No surfacer is," he told her, hazel eyes a-twinkle. He used to be smith-caste - she surprised herself by remembering his story - until an accident at the family forge had taken half of his right hand. Instead of staying and trying to adapt as best he could with his injury, he had elected to join the Legion, where his talents working with lyrium could be of some use against the Darkspawn. He had an older brother – very rare in Dwarven society where the birth-rate had been steadily in decline.

"But you're doing better than most," he admitted with more than a touch of admiration. "Are you…Are you really a Grey Warden?" he asked hesitantly at first. "I've never seen a Grey Warden before."

"Well," Merran grimaced again, adding a shrug. "There aren't too many of us left in Ferelden. I wouldn't be surprised."

Marduk nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind being a Grey Warden." He looked down at his hand, flexing the triangle of two and a half fingers that used to be a full set. "I'm not a great fighter, but I can make things explode!" He grinned suddenly. "Kaboom! That's how I lost my fingers," he explained with a self-deprecating twist of his mouth. Unlike the other Dwarves in the group, his chin and upper lip were hair free. "I was experimenting with lyrium dust. I'd heard about it from some merchants – they'd been talking about a surfacer Dwarf they'd come across who had found a mix of lyrium dust and…other things. Ancestors used to use something similar back in the old days, to blast through stubborn rock. I thought I'd hit on a likely formula. My pa didn't appreciate me blowing up the forge though…"

Wrapping her arms around her knees, Merran considered her words carefully. "The Grey Wardens accept anyone," she told him, adding hastily, "but there are risks."

Marduk's shaggy eyebrows rose on his forehead. "More risks than joining the Legion and fighting Darkspawn every day?" he asked with a roll of his eye. "Though Kardol says Darkspawn have been…odd lately."

"Odd? Aren't Darkspawn always odd?"

Marduk shook his head. "He wanted to see you when you were feeling up to it," he told her. "He can certainly explain it better than I could." He raised his head, looking past her shoulder. "When he comes back anyway. In the meantime, there's a stream – clean, flowing water…"

"A bath?" Merran asked. Marduk nodded affirmative. "How can I pass up an offer like that up? Lead on!"

Marduk led her down a hill. As she followed him through the ruins of the old Thaig, Merran marvelled at the greenery. There was what looked like grass and even little plots where flowers grew. Many buildings had collapsed in on themselves, though some still stood strong in amongst the vegetation that had grown up around it. It was incredible. The two of them walked in companionable silence through the town. Merran could hear the sound of running water before they came upon it. It was indeed clean water – so clear she could see the pattern on the stone tiles at the bottom. There had been steps carved into the side. Kneeling on the second step, Merran cupped her hands and dipped them into the water. It was very cold and she threw it onto her face, gasping as it stung her skin.

"I should…leave you alone…" Marduk said, beginning to back away. "I'll uh, stand over there, out of sight, but I'll be able to stop anyone from coming down. Um."

Merran nodded gratefully. "Thanks Marduk. I appreciate it."

He hesitated for a moment as Merran's hands went to the ties of her shirt. Abruptly collecting himself he turned and scurried around the corner. She'd loosened the ties and lifted her shirt over her head when there was a cry of "Warden!"

One of Kardol's men came pelting around the side of the stream, Marduk feebly trying to stop him. Standing up too fast, Merran's boots slipped on the wet steps. With a cry she fell backwards into the frigid water, the shock of the cold knocking the breath from her lungs. Almost immediately strong hands reached for her arms, hauling her to the surface.

"The scouting party have returned!" The Dwarf told her urgently. "One of them is hurt – and they need you! Kardol says you're a mage – a powerful mage. You must come!"

Merran stared in panic, the state of her undress forgotten. Mage…they needed a mage to heal…How on earth could she tell them that she couldn't help them? After all that she'd done for them? That she had no magic?

-oo-

Hours, days, weeks, months…how much time had passed as the group traversed through the complex series of twisting tunnels, Alistair had no idea. It was probably only a few hours, but it had felt like _years_. When they finally emerged, it was to a world of silver and white. He paused briefly at the mouth of the final tunnel, taking in their surroundings. Levi came up behind him.

"Well, there it is," he announced. "Soldiers Peak."

Alistair moved out of the way, walking a little further up the path. Behind them the mountain loomed dark and uninviting. On either side of the path stood tall forests, crusted with snow and capped with silence so deep, it seemed to leech all sound from the rare open spaces. And up ahead, shadowy through the light snow fall, was a structure that eclipsed all around it. A structure that looked decrepit and worn even partially obscured by the weather.

"Maker's breath!" Levi exclaimed, staring up at the immense and sprawling fortress that was the last stronghold of the old Grey Wardens of Ferelden. "Look at the _size _of her!"

Alistair and Jowan shared a look. Impressively sized or not, the fortress had seen better days, _years _in fact. As they approached the gate house, the air grew thicker in consistency as a fog seemed to rise from the ground. In the lead, Alistair and Jowan paused, the two regarding the lack of visibility with deserved wariness. Behind them, Zevran raised a hand, head cocked to the side, listening to the sounds on the wind. They were mere whispers at first and then abruptly ghostly figures appeared around them.

_I gave the Wardens one chance to die with honour. Instead they hole up like cowards! Let us send them to their final judgement!_

"What was that?" Alistair heard Levi's panicked voice from somewhere in the fog.

"It appears to have been a memory of some kind…" Jowan began, a frown creasing his forehead. "Things like that happen in places where the Veil is thin."

"Veil?" Levi repeated. "What does that mean?"

"Ohh…" Leliana swivelled like a little girl showing off a brand new dress. "This is like in a story. When the prince approaches the enchanted castle, the ghosts awaken…"

"I don't think I like the sound of that," Levi muttered unhappily.

"'Prince', oh ha, ha!" Oghren snickered somewhere in the back.

"They're just ghosts," Alistair shot a warning look towards Leliana and by association, Oghren. "Ghosts can't hurt us."

"No," Jowan agreed, though he added unhelpfully, "Not the ghosts no. It's the demons and abominations we have to worry about."

"Demons and…?" Levi began, thoroughly horrified. "I'm no warrior, so I'll just…let you go first. I'll just…follow, if you don't mind."

Rolling his eyes at Jowan, Alistair continued as the fog thinned. They passed under the arch of the gate house with no further incident. As they approached the main entry, the ground exploded with what appeared to be walking skeletons. Flame whooshed along the length of Alistair's longsword as he drew it, commanding Leliana and Cullen to stay by Levi as he and the others charged.

The group fought their way up the stairs and through the main doors, the skeletons ceasing to reconstruct themselves and stop attacking them only when they were in the main hall – and that because the ghosts of the fortress' inhabitants took over.

_Make them pay for every inch, men! _A woman's voice shouted as the press of ghosts surged in, around and _through _them. Ghostly blood spurted; cries of the long-dead rang out.

_Hold the flank! Avernus! We need you!_

Above in the gallery, a resonant voice began to chant while the fighting continued. Despite his assurance that the ghosts could not hurt them, Alistair still ducked a charge by a helmeted soldier, the greatsword the ghost hefted passing through him harmlessly.

"Maker's blood!" Jowan exclaimed. "He's summoning a rage demon!"

Just as Jowan's last word faded away, a flaming, familiar form oozed through the stone floor.

_More Avernus! _The woman commanded urgently. _Whatever it takes!_ Hunger demons and Shrieks rose to join the first wave, as the Warden Commander screamed at her troops to keep fighting - and then it started to go badly – for everyone. The summoned demons began to attack not only the king's soldiers, but the Wardens as well. They watched as the mage – Avernus – retreated, the Warden Commander's desperate plea for her Mage to stay and then…nothing.

All that was left behind were a small band of explorers, breathing warm steam into the frigid air and an empty silence filled with tension…broken by Oghren burping so long and loud, the rafters above trembled, showering the party with dust and rotting splinters.

"Oh, pardon me," he said, completely unabashed. "Shouldn't have had those beans for breakfast…"

"Well," Levi cleared his throat nervously. "At least we know how it ended."

"Yes," Zevran sniffed, examining his nails for sign of chippage. "Rather badly, in this case."

"Thank you, Zevran," Alistair sighed, noting Levi's alarmingly pale skin and the sweat beading along the poor man's forehead. The people he ordinarily travelled with were used to this sort of thing. A mere merchant was entitled to soil himself in sheer terror…Alistair sniffed and grimaced. "Let's just get a move on…" he snapped. "And Oghren…for pity's sake, stay _downwind…_"

-oo-


	6. Connection

-oo-

**Chapter 6 – Connection**

They'd carried her back, trailing blood along the dusty, ruined streets of Cadash Thaig. Merran had them lay her gently on the mossy knoll she'd been using herself as a bed the last couple of days. Despite being soaked to the skin, Merran could feel the back of her neck prickle with sweat. Bringing a badly injured Legionnaire back from battle was unusual. While the whole 'I'm already dead' concept confused her, Merran knew that the Legion would not have brought the injured woman back unless there was a chance of saving her. Usually, they wouldn't.

Merran sunk to her knees by the woman; she could at the very least assess her injuries, even if she had no magic to heal her. She had never been a particularly good healer in any case, her abilities lying mostly in offensive spells.

"What's her name?" Merran asked, running her hand along the side of the woman's armour. Something felt _wrong._ She wasn't too sure what.

"Utha," Kardol told her. "Her name is Utha."

Merran nodded. Utha's breathing was ragged and barely audible. She glanced at the trail of blood they had left behind. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and with the practice of many years…closed them again…she felt the flutter of the Veil and wondered why she hadn't tried this before. _Please don't let it have closed to me completely…Urthemiel…you can't have sent me back without any magic at all…Please!_ _Help me save this woman…_

Merran opened her eyes to the Fade landscape. The wrongness she'd felt by the Legionnaire's side was far more intense here. Looking around, she could see movement at the fringes of the twisted paths and absurd juxtaposition of ordinary things – water jugs turned inside out and floating midair, beds deconstructed and then reconstructed into abstract sculptures and half buried in the ground. The Fade was a place that – if there was enough power to do so – could be bent into any shape or form…as long as the creatures that lurked at the edges, hungering for that power didn't get you first.

She extended her hand, concentrating on the space directly in front of her, the face of the dying Legionnaire in her head. A string of blue sketched itself in the air, darting away before Merran could take a hold of it. Merran ran after it, as it shot across the paths and plains. The distances were deceptive. She was moving and staying still at the same time. Gritting her teeth, she counted under her breath…one, two…taking a mighty leap, she snatched the blue thread out of the air. Her feet slid on landing and she fell, rolling over and over, the thread clutched tightly to her chest.

When she finally stopped rolling, Merran waited a while until the dizziness stopped, then raised her head, gasping as she caught sight of the shredded mess of the Veil here. She heard a noise and she turned; there were figures prowling along the edges…_demons_…she thought, tamping down rising fear. She did not want to get any closer. She needed to get back to Cadash Thaig _right away._

She heard a sound like a dog's bark – high pitched and insistent. Merran paused, peering at the indistinct figures. _You don't have time for this!_ a voice in her heard screamed urgently at her. She'd just begun her way up the path again, when another voice, both hesitant and incredulous spoke her name.

"M-Merran…?"

The voice sounded familiar, but he kept flickering in and out of her vision. The thread squirmed in her hand, reminding her why she was here and she began to climb again.

"_Dear Maker_, _Merran_!"

"No, Alistair!" she screamed. "Don't follow me! You can't come through here!" She could feel, rather than see rough hands seize him, preventing him from stepping through into the tears in the Veil. It was never a good idea to go through as a solid person…Concentrating on the thread in her hands, Merran closed her eyes again, his voice pleading her to stay as her physical body yanked her Fade spirit back to Cadash Thaig.

Her hands were glowing. She could feel the life flow back from the Fade to Utha - using herself as the conduit - rejoining cleaved flesh and shattered bone. When the last of it trickled through, Merran 'stitched' the tear behind her; then opened her eyes for the second time. Laying her hand on the woman's neck she felt the steady beat of a pulse. Utha's breathing had ceased to be laboured and though her skin was still very pale, it was no longer grey.

"Wow…" Marduk said, his voice startling her. "That was _incredible._"

Merran offered him a weak smile. She would have to work on not draining herself of mana every time she did this, but oh, what a relief..._I have magic again…and he's alive. Maker's blood, he made it through…!_

"You Dwarves are at tough bunch…" she muttered to Marduk, rising to her feet. She wanted to go somewhere quiet to think…and to have a bit of a cry. It figured that Urthemiel would send her back with the one kind of magic she had never been good at:_ Spirit Healing_. What she could not figure out was what Alistair was doing in a place where the Veil was so thin a person could step through…or at least she _thought _it had been Alistair.

She wasn't sure. It hadn't _felt _like him.

-oo-

"Alistair…"

"Give me a moment."

Hands clenched around the hilt of his sword, Alistair used it to rise. He hadn't even remembered falling. The moment he'd seen Her through the tear in the Veil, he hadn't _thought,_ he'd just moved.

"What was that?" he asked, feeling oddly short of breath.

"Um…" Jowan grimaced. "Force spell," he explained reluctantly. "I couldn't risk you going through."

"Eh?" Oghren strolled over, the hairy caterpillars he called his eyebrows jumping across his forehead. "And why not?"

Jowan cast a brief, apologetic look at Alistair before responding. "Because one: there would be no guarantee he could come back; and two: what _might _come back would not be…human anymore."

"Might be an Elf or a Dwarf?" Oghren mused thoughtfully.

"He _means _an abomination, Oghren." Alistair shook his head, limping towards the stair rail. "Demons need physical form to exist in this world."

"Argh! I knew that, ya sodding pike twirler!" Oghren grumped. "I was just trying to lighten the mood – seeing as our resident comic relief," he shot Jowan a sour look, "keeps falling down on the job."

"I'm not…!" Jowan began – Alistair cut him off by grabbing his arm and pushing him along.

"Let's just get going."

"Look, Alistair…" Jowan glanced over his shoulder. Leliana, Oghren and Levi were out of earshot, but Zevran was never too far away. "About the…"

"Speak later." Alastair gave his head a stubborn shake. "The sooner we find out what's going on here and fix it, the sooner we can leave."

Tired of moving the mage along, Alistair gave up and went on ahead, leaving Jowan halfway down the stairs, looking like a stuffed owl. As Alastair still favoured his right knee, Jowan sent a rejuvenating spell his way. Cullen loped past, shooting him a sympathetic look on her way through. Butting her head under Alistair's hand so he could lean on her, the two of them cleared the last of the stairs and opened the next door. It wasn't empty.

The room, like all the others they had been through, was strewn with upturned furniture and the remains of both Grey Wardens and King Arland's soldiers. A large table had been smashed and parchment scattered. Blood stained the wooden floors in large patches and sprayed liberally across the walls; dried and darkened over the centuries. There was a large fireplace, above which a portrait of a genteel, frilly lady hung. In front of the fireplace was an ornate wooden desk. If one ignored the desiccated corpses and the blood, the scene would have been quite civilised…oh…and ignored the pale-eyed ghoul in the Warden Commander's armour standing there…

Levi Dryden looked from the creature in front of them to the young Warden Commander standing beside them. The past – and the present…

He became aware of a low, menacing growl. The massive Mabari stood with front paws splayed, head down, hackles raised.

"Remove that aggravation," the ghoul's rotted lips curled. "This one would speak to you."

Cullen gave two short but very decisive barks. Alistair placed his hand between her shoulders and she whined up at him softly.

"The Mabari are a good judge of…_character_. Better than a lot of people I could mention, in fact. What are you?" Alistair demanded.

"This one is the Dryden," the ghoul intoned. "Commander Sophia. All of these things – and none of them. You have slain many demons to get here. This one would propose a deal."

The sight of his walking, talking, back-from-the-dead ancestress was the breaking point for Levi Dryden. He gave a nervous, high pitched laugh that hovered on the hysterical. "Great-great Grandmother Sophia?" he giggled. "She's certainly let herself go, hasn't she?"

The ghoul tore its attention from Alistair to him. "Grandmother?" it asked. "This one has no memory of you."

"Well…you wouldn't, would you?" Oghren leant oh-so-casually on the handle of his war axe. "I doubt there's been the pitter-patter of little Dryden feet in here for some time."

"Look," Alistair moved forward slightly, placing himself between the ghoul and Levi. "We'd like some answers – can you tell us anything about Sophia Dryden?"

The ghoul snorted. "You wish information? No. This one has memories of this place, yes, but I would have you agree to my terms first."

Alistair sighed. Nothing was ever going to be simple, was it? He hadn't intended to _negotiate _with the demon-possessed corpse of a former Warden Commander. Ever. _Remind me to take notes, so I don't end up doing this too_…This was so much worse that meeting one's Calling…Even if it was a great advertisement for Grey Warden stamina…Still, he had to _know. _As Levi was currently in no condition to ask, Alistair volunteered.

"And what 'terms' would they be?" he asked.

"This one has memories of other places; of experiences. I wish to leave this place, to see them for myself, but magic holds me back. Some power within the Tower of Magi prevents me from leaving this place. I would have you destroy the Tower and all that exists within. Destroy the magic. Remove it from this world, and then I will tell all."

Alistair stopped himself from guffawing outright just in time. Jowan's jaw dropped, Leliana gasped softly. Did this ghoul have _any _idea who it was dealing with? Bored with the conversation, Alistair decided to play along, "You want us to remove the mages?"

"Not remove. Destroy. Destroy everything until nothing stands."

"Yeah," Alistair scratched the side of his nose. "That's kind of what I thought you meant." In one fluid movement, he drew his sword, bringing it around at chest level. Sparks flew as metal met metal. Where there used to be something resembling a head was now a _space._ The headless ghoul stumbled backwards, colliding with the fireplace. Alistair sheathed his sword and in a dull, emotionless voice commanded Jowan: "Burn it."

The mage did not need to be asked a second time. Flames erupted from his fingertips to envelop the remains of Sophia Dryden. As the partially melted Warden armour and ashes smouldered, Levi giggled again.

"Well," he said, still reeling from the discovery his grandparent had been a possessed corpse, "I guess there has to be one in every family."

"Pity she couldn't keep her head when it came to the crunch, eh?"

"_Oghren…_!"

"He started it!"

"Anyway," Levi gave his head a visible shake. "Maybe we'll find evidence of what happened here somewhere else…?"

"Like this?" Leliana held up a red-leather bound book. She tossed it over to Levi. "It appears to be Commander Sophia's _journal_."

"Oh!" Levi caught it eagerly, a smile spreading across his face. "Yeah. Yeah. That'll do it!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Alistair gave Cullen a grateful pat, then looked around. "I guess…we can go? Where's Zevran?"

"Here."

Zevran's disembodied head appeared around the corner. "There is another room," he told them. "And it appears to be even less congenial than this one."

With trepidation, Alistair and the others trooped out of this room into the next. The smell was the first thing that hit them; an unholy cross between a sewer and a herbalist's drying room. Cages hung suspended along two walls – one of them still held the partial remains of…something. What looked like holding tanks had been built into the floor. As they walked past, they could see that spikes lay at the bottom of the tanks and it was _these _that smelled the most like fear.

On a raised area accessible by two ramps, was a work area. Benches lined three sides on which crucibles, flasks, vials, bottles and bubbling cauldrons sat above magically-shielded, miniature torches. An elderly man bent over a convoluted arrangement of glass tubes, an open book next to him on the bench. As the group approached, he held up a warning finger.

"I hear you," he muttered impatiently. "Don't disrupt my concentration."

He made an infinitesimal adjustment to one of his curly tubes before finally looking up, pinning them – Alistair in particular – with a look that made him feel as though he was being marked for what bits of him were edible and what parts weren't.

"Ah," he drawled, the voice sounding very much like the ghost of Commander Sophia's Mage, Avernus. "The Warden touched by the Archdemon. _Most _interesting…"


	7. Circles

-oo-

**Chapter 7 - Circles**

"...short-sighted _men _have forbidden my research…_and_ short-sighted women – but what do they know…? Months…months of preparation…and yet…yes! I see! I see! We did what we had to – desperation led me to rediscover my genius…"

Alistair drummed his fingers on the pommel of his sword as he leaned on it again. His knee ached, his chest hurt and his head was beginning to throb. They were not good ingredients for a congenial mood. Beside him, Cullen yawned widely and loudly and leant against his leg, sliding down his boot as her feet curled into sleeping position. From the corner of his eye, he could see Leliana blink furiously, trying to keep awake. Zevran was busy paring his nails and polishing them on the leaves of his leather armour.

"…they said I was mad! Mad I tell you! Me – _me – _mad? How blind they were to turn away from my achievements! Oh…the things I could have done…!"

Jowan slapped at his cheeks, shaking his arms while Oghren gaped in awe. Alistair gave a tiny snort of amusement at the reactions of his fellow companions. Avernus was much like a male version of a certain, ancient marsh witch. Both were powerful magic users, both had lived way beyond any kind of natural lifespan – and both were completely and utterly barking mad.

"…I'll show them! I'll make them pay! I shall create a master race of Super Grey Wardens! I – I shall be the architect of a new world order…!"

They had tried to stop him from talking. He hadn't really listened. A simple 'excuse me' had started him off – and of course, Leliana had to mention the _Chantry _and _forbidden magic, _which triggered Avernus' current monologue. Far from completely ignoring the rantings of a pickled Grey Warden mage, Alistair had taken mental notes. Avernus had been the one that had created the Summoning Circles in the first place. He'd been the one that had called forth the Demons. He'd also been able to prolong his life way beyond that of a normal Grey Warden. No thirty-year lifespan for him, oh no. It was something worth asking him about…if he could tell them in two-hundred words or less.

Much less.

In the meantime there was the more urgent issue of repairing the damaged Veil. The demons they had fought thus far were only an advance group. With the Veil still torn, it was only a matter of time before more started to pour through…Hm…centuries of this allowing demons to enter this world…So what had Avernus been doing all this time? Eating them?

"So let me get this straight," Alistair raised his voice while Avernus continued his tirade against magical experimentation.

"You've been here all this time and you haven't bothered to repair the Veil tear yourself?"

"…no appreciation for true genius! But I'll…what? What did you say?"

"The _demons_," Alistair drawled sarcastically. "You didn't think to repair the Veil yourself? What were you doing all this time? Attending an important meeting?" He eyed the ancient Mage's wrinkled dome. "Too busy washing your hair?"

"Oh, I see…you're _clever_."

Alistair merely sniffed at Avernus. The old walnut had made it sound as though cleverness was the sole domain of Mages.

"Yeah, well, I'm with the pike-twirler," Oghren grunted, restless for something to dismember. "You been holed up all this time with the Veil outside lettin' in all manner of beasties and bogies. Single man could get up to all sorts of things…given the _time_…eh? Eh?"

Avernus regarded Oghren's suggestively wiggling eyebrows with disdain. "Yesss…Well. Regardless. I _suppose _I can unravel the Summoning Circles…but someone with more brawn than brain has to deal with the demons that come through when I do so. Once that is done, the Veil can be repaired."

"See?" Alistair said reasonably. "That wasn't so hard was it? All we needed was a genius to come up with a brilliant plan."

Avernus' top lip curled. "Yesss…" he sneered. "Bright one, aren't you? I see you'll go far in the Order."

"Yeah well," Oghren inclined his head towards Alistair. "Warden Commander. Can't go further than that, unless there's a rank above 'im…Warden King? Warden Emperor? Does he get to wear a crown? Something shiny, shaped like a Griffon…"

"Let's just get to the Summoning Circles," Alistair snapped, exasperated by Oghren and his not so subtle hints about royalty. He pointed a warning finger at Avernus. "Once you've done what you're supposed to do, we'll figure out your fate. 'Good of the Order' or not, Grey Wardens have died at your hands."

"Bah!" Avernus expelled a thin chestful of air – sounding exactly like Flemeth. "I wouldn't expect the likes of _you _to appreciate true intellect."

"Maybe not," Alistair shrugged, swinging his longsword onto his shoulder, "but I _can _appreciate a good bonfire." He sent Avernus a look of pure evil. "Must be my Templar training. We learn how Mages make great fuel. Especially when they're nicely dried out with age…"

Indicating with a jerk of his chin that Avernus was to precede them, Alistair watched the others leave the laboratory through narrowed eyes. Jowan was the last out of the door, shooting him an anxious look.

"You're scary sometimes," he told him. "Did you know that?"

Alistair returned a grim growl. "Oh, I'm having the _time_ of my life," he said in a tone of voice that implied he would rather be having a molar removed. "Can't you tell?"

-oo-

"Marduk."

The young Legionnaire looked up from his ceramic bowls and carefully measured piled of ingredients. "Yes, Warden?"

Merran hunkered down beside him. She had been thinking – never a good thing for her – but it had been necessary. Seeing Alistair too close to the Fade had been worrying. And she knew she could not stay underground forever. She had to seek out…someone…someone that she could talk to about why she was here. She had an idea to head up to Kinloch Hold, though the thought of fronting up to the Knight Commander filled her with dread. He had been twitchy the last time she had seen him. He would probably take one look at her, scream 'Abomination!' and Righteous Strike her there and then. As she wasn't too sure how many times she could come back from the Fade, avoiding Templars – for the moment anyway – might be a good idea.

Besides, there were other places she could go as a starting point. "How far are we from Orzammar?" she asked, adding as an afterthought: "or the surface?"

"You want to go to the surface?" he queried, looking slightly crestfallen.

"Orzammar would be my preference, but yes. Is there a way from here to the nearest surface town or settlement?"

"I'm not familiar with any route to the surface," Marduk said quietly, eyes on the piles of coloured powder before him. "Kardol might know. As for Orzammar…about a week; a week and a half maybe."

Merran nodded. She thanked him and stood. She would check on Utha before approaching Kardol to ask his permission to head to the Dwarven capital city. If she was lucky, he would be returning there himself to re-supply and she wouldn't have to go alone. On the other hand, maybe if she asked nicely…She'd been about to turn, when she felt a gentle tug on her sleeve. She looked down into a pair of pleading hazel eyes.

"Um…I was hoping you'd…"

"_Andraste's burning brassiere!_"

Merran jumped at the shout. It had come from the bottom of their grassy knoll, from a very familiar voice. "Merran? Maker have _mercy_, Merran!"

Merran stared. A walking lump of rock…and an old woman stood at the bottom of the knoll. She had to blink several times before she could believe her eyes. And then she stopped trying to believe and let her legs take over, pelting down the hill towards the newcomers.

"WYNNE!" she screeched and launched herself at the elderly mage. "He's alive! He's alive! He made it! Oh, I mean you made it! But he made it! Yay!" She danced around the two of them until chuckling to herself, Wynne folded her arms across her ample chest. She attempted to regard the young Mage sternly – and failed.

"Yay _indeed_," Wynne managed. Merran stopped leaping about, staring up at her old mentor with starry eyes.

"And so, it seems," Wynne added, blue eyes regarding her down the length of an austere nose. "Did _you._"

Merran grinned, completely unashamed at her lack of deceased-ness. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you – actually you know, you probably would." She clasped her hands together, her grin – if it was possible – widening even more. "This is just _brilliant._ I was just thinking I should go and find someone I can talk to about this – someone _magical_, and then you show up! How awesome is that?"

Shaking her head, the Senior Enchanter grasped Merran's shoulders and gave her a more gentle embrace. "The Maker works in mysterious ways, child."

"Oh, huh? When did _you _become so religious?"

"Oh, about three seconds ago, when I saw someone alive that I had seen die and disintegrate into the Fade…"

"Yes," the golem beside them piped. "And here It is: all squishy again. How awful for It."

"Aw…" Merran reached up and hugged the golem, knuckling the top of Shale's head for good measure. "And don't complain Shale. Just because you're made of rock, doesn't mean you're not huggable."

"Hmph. I fail to see the purpose of Its current actions…" She sounded like she was clearing her throat; a noise like two large rocks being ground together. "Though, it is not wholly…unpleasant."

Merran smiled at them both and suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth. "Ooh! You're here! In Cadash Thaig! Why are you here? Did you know Darkspawn were about? And there's just the two of you? What in Andraste's name are you _doing_ here?" Just as suddenly, she grabbed Marduk, who was standing awkwardly nearby. "Oh, and this is Marduk. Marduk – Shale and Senior Enchanter (it is still Senior Enchanter, right?) Wynne of the Circle of Magi."

Marduk first gazed awestruck at the white-haired human. Meeting one Mage in his lifetime was quite incredible. Meeting two was something he was going to remember _forever._ His attention moved to Shale and his eyes widened.

"You're a…" he breathed as one in love. "You're a _golem._"

"Oh, good eye."

"You're beautiful…"

"Oh, _very_ good eye."

Wynne touched Merran's arm. "We've been searching for Shale's history," she explained. With the Blight over, a small party had been able to return to Honnleath to search through Wilhelm's laboratory and records for mention of a golem and where he might have obtained it…her. The information they had found had led them a merry chase across Ferelden and almost as far as Tevinter. Before boarding a boat that would take them across the Waking Sea, they decided to stop in Orzammar to visit the Shaperate. The last time Wynne had visited Orzammar, she had delivered a carefully obtained rubbing of the stone tablet discovered in the same chamber as the Anvil of the Void.

"By then the Shaper had completed translating the list of those who had volunteered to be put to the Anvil," Wynne said. "Shale's name was mentioned – the only woman to do so – along with her House." She spread her arms wide. "This place. Cadash Thaig. And up there," she pointed up the hill to what had become Merran's personal campsite. "Is where I expect to find evidence Shale lived here as a Dwarf."

Merran followed the line of Wynne's pointing finger. The alcove under the carved statue of a Dwarf warrior where she kept her bedroll had been, up to this point, merely a handy resting place. Apart from being located in the most sheltered part of the area, it was also the greenest and Merran missed green grass and the breeze…and the stars.

"Hm…" Shale mused, "To be quite honest, I was uncertain as to what we would find here. I never expected to find…you."

"Aw…" Merran gave Shale another hug. "You great big, teddy bear, you."

Shale winced. "And now I am not sure whether that is a good thing after all..."

"Well," Wynne said in a businesslike voice. "If this young man will assist me, we will find what awaits us."

Their little group trooped to the top of the hill. There was a large stone tablet where Merran kept her bedroll – borrowed from Marduk. She pushed the bedroll aside to reveal the markings on the stone. Shale bent down, running a stony finger across the lines of Dwarven writing.

"It has names…and dates…This is – this is to honour those who volunteered to become golems – and there! There is _my_ name! Shayle of House Cadash – just as Caridin said. I – I remember now; remember being Shayle." She straightened, looking at the ruins around her. "I remember living here…"

"That's wonderful!" Wynne exclaimed. "This confirms the information we provided to the Shaperate."

"Wonderful?" Shale repeated doubtfully. "Remembering being a soft, squishy creature of flesh is wonderful? Urgh." Her glowing eyes travelled over first Wynne, then Merran, coming to rest on Marduk. The young Dwarf stood nervously to the side, not wishing to intrude. He kept his eyes lowered, his attention on his hands as they twisted nervously in his shirt. _A Dwarf..._

"I…I will have to think about this…discovery," Shale said on a whistling sigh. "In the meantime, I will continue to…" She turned to Merran. "In the meantime, I will continue to follow…you."


	8. Adopt a Dwarf

-oo-

**Chapter 8 – Adopt a Dwarf**

Marduk kicked at the dirt, watching the Warden and the other Mage conclude their discussion with his Commander. He'd been hovering in the background, hoping that no one would notice, but Gartan had come by and made a rude joke about Dwarves and human women – and Utha, back on her feet now – had raised an eyebrow at him. It made him even more nervous, but he was determined to ask the question, even if rejection lay at the end of it. He knew he'd sworn his life – or more accurately, his _death _– in service to the Legion, but there was no reason he couldn't become a Grey Warden…was there? He didn't know. What he did know was that the Wardens had travelled with another Dwarf – and a disgraced one at that – during the Blight, so it wouldn't be unusual for him to…tag along. He'd make as good an argument as possible – he knew the Deep Roads; he knew Darkspawn and he was already dead, so there was no worries about him _dying _while Grey Wardening or anything.

He watched her give Kardol a hug; choking in surprise that his gruff old Commander would let anyone show him affection, much less a _human_, his heart giving an odd leap when she headed his way, smiling at him.

She extended her hand, "Well, Marduk," she said. "I guess this is it. I won't say goodbye. The Darkspawn have a way of bringing people together, so I'm sure we'll meet again."

Marduk stared at her hand, chewing on his bottom lip. _Just say it, you sodding nugbrain!_

"I…uh…Actually – Warden, I was hoping to…I wanted to ask you whether – I want to come with you!" he blurted in a rush.

"You…?" she began, to be interrupted by the older Mage.

"It sounds like a fine idea," the Mage said with a small shake of her head, "but I'm not so sure the life of a Surface-dweller is for you, young man."

"Look," he ignored the older Mage and stared up at Merran with pleading eyes. "I – I'm sturdy, I know Darkspawn – I've faced them before. I can fight – not as great as Kardol or Hernog, but I can still swing an axe the right way. And failing that, I can blow stuff up – you'd be surprised at how handy a talent that is. And I can cook! If you don't want me to fight, I can carry stuff and…"

"Young man," the older mage interrupted again, more sternly this time. "You have promised yourself to serve the Legion of the Dead. Even if you can be released…"

"So if Kardol releases me, it'll be all right?" he asked hopefully, his eyes never leaving Merran's.

Wynne shook her head. "That is not entirely what I mean."

"And the Legion fight Darkspawn, just like the Grey Wardens," Marduk ploughed on. "It'll be almost the same!"

When Merran finally spoke, her eyes were sad. "Marduk," she told him softly. "Being a Grey Warden…it's…your entire life is given over…"

"Just like the Legion!" Marduk exclaimed. "Except it's 'death', not 'life'. I'm casteless, I'm dead…Returning to the stone here; or on the surface – it's all the same! Please take me with you! _Please…!_"

As he gazed up at her with liquid, pleading eyes, Merran made a tiny, strangled sound, pursing her lips as though not trusting herself to speak. She cast a helpless look towards the elder mage – who shrugged. Merran took a deep breath. Since the end of the Blight, the Darkspawn had fled back underground and the Legion were busy again. Kardol might not appreciate her poaching one of his men.

Even if it was from one of her favourite race of people…

"If," she said carefully, trying not to sound too encouraging. "Kardol says it's all right, then…yes Marduk, I would be pleased to have you along."

The ground rumbled; heralding the arrival of the golem. "I came to see why It was delayed…" A rocky clunk accompanied Shale's fists being propped onto her hips. "Is It attempting to adopt another Dwarf?" she asked in disgust. "Would it not be easier to collect stamps, or small ceramic depictions of animals?"

"You…collect Dwarves?" Marduk queried, eyebrows raised.

"Well…" Merran refused to meet his eyes, explaining haltingly; "I only have two and technically one was never actually adopted – she just went to the Tower and the other…kind of attached himself to us. No adoption actually took place."

Marduk smiled widely. "Then I'll be your first?" he asked, hazel eyes twinkling cheekily up at her. Her neck turned red, followed by her cheeks.

"Um…"

"Great!" he exclaimed. "Give me a moment to plead my case to Kardol – and I'll pack my stuff!"

He rushed off, leaving Merran wobbling in his wake. She could sense Wynne's disapproving stare on her and offered the older mage a weak smile. "Uh…"

Wynne sighed. "I suppose," she began reasonably. "We could use an extra body on our trip back. But," she wagged her finger in warning at Merran, "If Commander Kardol agrees, let me make this quite clear; he is _your_ responsibility."

"Yes ma'am."

Turning away, Wynne rolled her eyes at the golem. She threw her hands in the air as she headed towards the exit to the Thaig. "'Adopting Dwarves' indeed!"

-oo-

Zevran appeared by Alistair's shoulder, the two men watching Levi Dryden practically skip back into the fortress.

"Now there goes a very happy man," Zevran commented. He glanced up at the Grey Warden. "Are you sure about the…other one?"

Alistair shrugged. "I'll be watching him," he replied curtly. "If I hear about any 'unexplained' deaths up here, I'm sending in a death squad."

"Ah," Zevran nodded in understanding. "That would be me, I take it?"

"You're on my books now Zevran."

"And if we find that our desiccated friend has purchased a volcano to build his secret lair from which he plots to take over the world?"

"Same deal."

"Well, I think you should have disposed of him," Leliana stalked over to the two men angrily. "He has killed many others – Grey Wardens such as yourself! He has spent many years performing Chantry-forbidden magic – how can you trust him not to do it again?"

"The same reason I can trust _you _not to stick your nose in business that does not concern you," Alistair snapped at her, earning him a surprised look from Zevran. His verbal rebuke had the desired effect; her skin reddened and her eyes flashed at him. _There was once a time when I found those eyes attractive…_he sneered at himself and turned away.

She made the mistake of grabbing his arm. "This man is a _murderer!"_

"And so are you, Madam _Bard_," Alistair glared down at her hand. If she was wise she would remove it – and she did – very quickly. "Let me remind you, Leliana: you were not _asked_ to come. You are here by your own choice. If you do not like a decision I have made, that is not_ my_ concern."

"But I…" She found Zevran's hand on her own arm. He shook his head at her and Leliana found herself stamping her foot in frustration as Alistair's quick strides took him towards the tunnel entrance. "Zevran, this is wrong – you know this!"

"Warden business is Warden business, my dear Leliana," Zevran said in his quiet, lilting voice. "You were not present at the discussions with the Mage. Whatever Avernus did, he did it with the approval of his Warden Commander. It is not up to us to pass judgement." He shot her an ironic grin, "especially considering our former occupations."

"Yar, well," Oghren wiped his arm across his dripping nose. "Warden business or not, Commander's been tetchy for some time. It's kinda clear what he needs."

"Wrarf!" Cullen barked before loping off after Alistair.

"No, not a _bone, _ya bleeding overgrown deepstalker!" Oghren yelled at her. "I'm talking about…"

"Why don't you all just leave him alone?" Jowan sighed, hefting his pack as he came up behind them all. In it was a short but urgent letter from Levi Dryden to his family in Denerim. The merchant was keen to have some extra hands to help restore the Dryden fortress to some semblance of order, intending to use the large fortress as a base of operations for their business. The only other Grey Warden in the party had been following the entire conversation and he found he was with Alistair on this one, though he was loath to admit it. It was not because he disliked the ex-Templar, but Leliana had not been particularly helpful so far – and the tent incident had been an incredibly ill-judged move on her part. Everyone was tired – Alistair included - and the others had seemed to forget that the Warden Commander was in charge.

These people had gotten so used to walking all over the man during the Blight, they'd simply assumed they could do it again. But the Alistair post-Archdemon was not the same Alistair stalking down the mountain path, Mabari at his heels. It was an Alistair that had been – if Avernus could be believed – _altered _by the Archdemon; and in ways that even a centuries-old, experienced mage could not determine.

"Look," he said tiredly. "Let's just get out of here. I'm hungry." _Again…_

-oo-

_Yes, he'd made a blasted wrong turn – two in fact._ Levi's map was detailed and quite clear, but even a well-drawn map did not lessen the complexity of the tunnel system. By the time the party had made it back to the camp cavern it had been dark for several hours. He would dearly have loved to have had enough time to head down the mountain and a slightly less rarefied atmosphere, but it would have to wait until the next day…morning.

By the time he'd had his tent pitched, Jowan had a blazing fire crackling invitingly in the shallow pit that they'd dug the last time they had been here. Zevran had gathered some snow and was melting it into water for the evening stew, the others working together – Oghren peeling potatoes and lobbing them into the pot; Jowan throwing in chunks of dried meat and herbs to replenish energy…they were like a well-oiled machine. The only ones not participating in preparing the evening meal was Alistair – who set about pitching the others' tents in return; and Leliana who remained at the mouth of the cave, silent and resentful.

Alistair considered going over to her to demand she contribute, but as that meant having to talk to the woman, he crossed that option off his list. He had no idea what she had been doing up in the Frostbacks and the Temple of Andraste, but she'd come back even more devout than ever. He'd had enough of Sisters and Brothers spouting Chantry doctrine at him for nearly ten years of his life, he didn't need a Lay Sister chewing off his ear with it now.

So absorbed with his irritable thoughts was he, he didn't see Jowan approach until a steaming bowl was thrust into his face.

"Already?" Alistair frowned. "That was quick."

"Not really," Jowan sat cross-legged beside him with a bowl of his own. "You've been staring at the same fissure in the wall for the last hour.

As Alistair ate, Jowan observed him over the rim of his bowl. Jowan's own serve had been consumed in three large mouthfuls and he was keen to head back to the communal pot for a refill. All this wandering about in dark tunnels, killing abominations and demons and slaying possessed Wardens was hungry work.

After a short while of staring and trying to ignore the insistent grumblings of his stomach, Jowan put his bowl down.

"So, this thirty year thing…" he began, wincing as he noticed Oghren going back for a second serve.

"I wondered when you were going to ask about that." Alistair lowered his bowl. He'd left a single potato in the bottom.

"And for the record – no, I refused Avernus' request for a sample."

"Right." Despite Alistair's denial, Jowan's gaze went to Alistair's arms for puncture marks – not that he could have seen anything, the man still wore his armour.

Avernus had been very interested in Alistair. The man had never met anyone who had fought an Archdemon and lived; and the Mage had still enough Grey Warden in him to be able to detect the difference between himself and Alistair. Neither of them had mentioned the _second _dragon. It was information neither of the younger Grey Wardens had wanted to divulge to the crackpot Mage.

Alistair sighed. "He was worth keeping alive, just to see what he could come up with, _ethically -_ as well as finding out how he's managed to extend his miserable existence."

"Clean living?" Jowan suggested. "Exercise? No smoking, drinking or sex?"

"Like I said," Alistair raised an eyebrow at him. "Miserable."

Jowan sighed, sinking his chin into his hand, his eyes straying again to the pot still steaming by the fire. "It's not like any of us are living…happier. I'm beginning to feel like a Templar. All that prayer and devotion makes Johnny Templar very dull indeed. And here I was thinking the ladies really go for a Grey Warden in armour. Turns out they don't."

Despite himself, Alistair grinned. He gave Jowan a shove. "Go and grab the damn stew," he commanded. "I don't want your growling stomach keeping us up all night."

"And the madcap Mage?"

Alistair looked grim. "He'll keep," he promised. _For a couple more years anyway…_


	9. Roads

-oo-

**Chapter 9 – Roads**

"_Tag!"_

"_Hey! Not fair!"_

"_Ha, ha, Rosie…try and catch me now…!"_

_He watched them tear around the garden, the little girl's legs pumping furiously beneath her. He chuckled to himself; he'd never tire of that comic gait very young children had when they ran…The older one – a boy with a bright head of wheat-blonde hair and smiling deep brown eyes deliberately slowed his pace so the girl could catch up with him. When she did, she grabbed onto the back of his shirt and he fell to the ground, hands clutching dramatically at his throat._

"_Oh…urgh…you've got me…argh…!" He thrashed about the ground a couple of minutes; then lay still._

_The smile fell from the girl's face, her fist went to her mouth in concern as she first prodded the prone boy with the toe of her bare foot, then she sat heavily on his chest, expelling an 'Urgh!" from him. She leaned into his face._

"_You're not dead!"_

"_Yes, I am," he said._

"_No you're not…!" _

_With a twist, the little boy managed to dump the girl onto her bottom and ran away again, the two beginning their chase and tag once more. He laughed – at the same time as two slender arms slid across the tops of his shoulders from behind. He felt her lips brush his ear, causing his skin to tingle all the way to his navel._

"_You need a haircut," she told him._

"_I like it long," he said. "I think it makes me look romantic and…roguish."_

"_You're getting a weird tan line," she told him, tracing the hairline around the back of his neck with a line of light kisses, ending with his other ear._

"_You keep doing that and I'm going to have to take you inside," he murmured, grabbing a hold of her arms and tugging her onto his lap. _

"_Well, it would certainly solve the tanning problem," she told him in a practical tone of voice, slipping off his lap to stand in front of him; cheek resting lightly on the top of his head. "But I just don't get the appeal of a _Rogue _myself_._"_

"_No?" _

"_No."_

"_Well, I guess I'll just have to show you then." Reaching up he cupped her face in his hands, bringing her mouth down to his own. Soft lips moved under his and he deepened the kiss, thinking he might make good that promise of hauling her inside…until he realised she was _laughing_._

"_You're spoiling the mood …" he muttered against her twitching mouth._

_Her nose wrinkled adorably as she scrunched up her face. "Your moustache hairs keep going up my nose…" she complained, though she did it with a smile. He sighed, suddenly tightening his hold on her, fists clenching in the fabric of her dress._

"_I want you back, Merran…Makers breath, I want you back…"_

_She gave another laugh, hands stroking his hair._

"_Silly," she told him, the sound of children's laughter drifting from the other side of the garden. "I _am_ back…"_

Alistair awoke gasping for breath, his heart thudding loud and rapid in his ears. Pain stung his hand and he realised he'd been gripping the Rose so hard it had sliced into the skin of his hand. He sat up, his other hand rubbing at his crusted eyes. Had he been crying in his sleep? Slowing his breathing, he listened for signs of movement around camp. Jowan had cast magical defences at the two cave exits, so they could all get a full night's sleep before their long journey down the mountain. He hadn't even remembered falling asleep himself…

The camp was in silence; orange light beaming through the cave entrance as a new day dawned. Once they had cleared the mountain, their party was to make its way to Amaranthine. Even Alistair had realised he couldn't put off going there forever. By the time he arrived, the Orlesian Wardens would be there – and the King would be displeased. King Fergus' preference had been for a _Fereldan _to be there first.

Alistair lay back again, his hand throbbing painfully. He didn't feel like waking Jowan up so he could heal a simple cut, so he began to rummage around in his pack for some bandages.

A soft whine at the entrance to his tent preceded a large black nose and two inky eyes on either side of a damp muzzle.

"Are you ever _not _damp?" he asked Cullen as she barged further into his tent. She sat down beside him, placing a concerned paw on his leg. It was easy to forget how large a fully grown Mabari was, until one towered over you, but Cullen had a way of making herself small, if she wanted to. She lay down, resting her muzzle on his thigh. Alistair placed his hand on the top of her head, kneading her ears until her eyelids drooped.

"You've been thinking about her too huh?"

Cullen gave him a questioning whimper.

"I keep dreaming about her. Dreaming she's back." He shook his head. "I don't know. It's just wishful thinking, isn't it?" He reached for his Rose…the little girl in his dream...She had been called Rose…had he been dreaming about the children they could have had together? No, even if they had both survived, if they'd found a way to halt the progress of the Taint within her, they would never have had children. All the Grey Wardens he'd known with a family had already had them before they had become Wardens.

And yet...a small voice said in the back of his head, if that had been true, Merran wouldn't have existed at all. She had been the child of a Grey Warden post-Joining…

"It was just lucky for me, she turned out to be a fluke, huh?" he told Cullen.

Finding the bandages, he wrapped them around his hand. "Come on, let's get the others up."

-oo-

_No Darkspawn…_Merran frowned to herself. She heard Wynne make a noise of impatience when – for the umpteenth time – she backtracked, to peer down a branching tunnel. She had also been wandering off into other caverns, searching. There _should _be Darkspawn. After a Blight, they retreated underground…The Deep Roads was as underground as it could get.

"Merran, for pity's sake," Wynne's voice called to her. "_Please _can you not wander off like that. You're giving this old woman a heart attack."

"Sorry!" Merran called back. "I'm just…" A calloused hand slipped into hers, tugging her back into the main tunnel.

"We can make good time, if we stay together," Marduk reminded her, adding dryly, "and I'd rather the other Mage didn't die while we're down here."

"I'm just…" Merran began and stopped with a sigh. She followed him back to where Wynne and Shale stood waiting, the former tapping her foot impatiently. "Marduk," Merran asked the young Dwarf. "You said Kardol and the others have been fighting Darkspawn?"

Marduk gave a humourless snort. "That's an understatement. During the Blight was the only time the Legion had any rest," he informed her wryly. "We knew the Archdemon had gone when the Darkspawn had come back in numbers. Why do you ask?"

By this time the two of them had rejoined the other two and Merran was able to include them in her conversation. "We haven't encountered any Darkspawn – and Kardol said they had been acting…odd lately."

Marduk mulled over her statement. "You know, to be honest, I hadn't even thought about it." He shot her a self-deprecating grin. "My Pa would say it's because working with too much lyrium has addled my brain…"

"Well, perhaps we are tempting fate by even discussing this," Wynne said in her Senior Enchanter voice. "Don't forget; sound carries in these tunnels, and the Fates That Be have a funny sense of humour."

"Hm…" Merran murmured. She stopped suddenly and frowned. They had been travelling along the Deep Roads for a few hours now since breaking their fast. They had intended to be as close to Ortan Thaig as possible by mid-break, but the road marker said differently. She gestured Marduk over, pointing to the symbols on the marker.

Marduk peered at them, frowning. Then he looked around. Locating another marker, he ran towards it, then looked around again. He returned, holding out his hand for the map Merran had retrieved from her pack. Turning the map this way and that, he shook his head, saying finally. "I'm unfamiliar with these markers. They aren't on the map."

"That's impossible, young man," Wynne exclaimed, holding out her own hand for the map of the Deep Roads. "We've followed this very carefully…" Her eyes scanned the lines and squiggles inked carefully onto the vellum, tracing the road from the spot marked 'Cadash Thaig' back to the highway. Groaning softly, she touched a hand to her forehead. "Oh, please don't tell me we're lost."

Merran and Marduk exchanged a foreboding look. "Okay," Merran said slowly. "We won't."

"But we _are _lost, aren't we?" Shale asked.

"Well…" Marduk stood beside Wynne, to scan the map himself. "This map is old," he told them. "It's possible there's been a rock fall and a new passage opened up that we went down by accident…"

"We could be wandering around here to the end of our days!" Wynne said irritably. "If we backtrack, we risk taking another wrong turn." Merran placed her hand on Wynne's arm. The older Mage's tone of voice had sounded querulous and…_old _and she felt compelled to comfort the older woman.

"We have enough supplies for a week," Merran stated calmly. "We can try and stretch that a little." She indicated the road with a flick of her chin. "This looks like a main road – and they always head somewhere important. If we continue this way, the likelihood of finding someplace familiar…ish is pretty high." She sought confirmation from Marduk.

"Oh, uh…yes, yes," Marduk said a little too eagerly. "You're absolutely correct."

"Or," Wynne remarked, folding her arms. "This could lead us to a dead end."

Marduk grinned. Despite the gravity of the situation, he was having fun. "Oh yes," he told her cheerfully. "Definitely."

"Well, what is it to be?" Shale boomed above them. "Do we continue?"

Wynne sighed tiredly. "Very well," she agreed. "We will continue, as you say."

"Brilliant!" Merran touched Wynne's arm again. There was brief, soft glow around her hand, which shifted to surround the elder Mage. Wynne looked in surprise at Merran.

"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked.

Merran's cheeks dimpled. "'Gift' from the – ahem – you know what," she said.

"But you've never…Healing has never been your greatest strength – not that I am complaining…"

"I know," Merran chuckled. "Fantastic, isn't it? Useless at anything else – don't ask me to light a fire or anything," she added. "Can't seem to do it. Healing's all I'm good for, apparently."

"Well then," Wynne said, straightening her back – she'd never experienced such a powerful reinvigorating spell before – "I shall not look a gift horse in the mouth. Onwards then." She began striding down the road energetically. Marduk and Merran exchanged a mutual grin, then jogged to catch up with her.

-oo-

_You're an idiot…_Jowan's words rung in his ears as Alistair replaced his glove, tightening the buckles on his gauntlets. He shot a sour look at the departing Mage's back. It had just been a _scratch, _damn it. Granted, he'd had to empty the blood out of his glove and give it a bit of a rinse, but…He didn't understand it. He was a Grey Warden; and Grey Wardens had remarkable powers of healing. The injury he'd given himself should have closed up, but instead he'd bled all the way down the mountain.

And now a thought had begun to grow in his mind. He couldn't detect other Grey Wardens. He no longer had their horrendous appetites. The dreams had gone…What if…What if – somehow – being in contact with a dying Archdemon had somehow _removed _the Taint from him? Avernus had been very keen to remove a blood sample from him to test – well, what he'd asked for had been for more than blood. Given the opportunity, the nutty Mage would have performed a live vivisection there and then.

He frowned, deep in thought as he caught up with the others. To be honest, he wasn't too sure whether he _wanted _to be untainted. It would mean he was – technically – no longer a Grey Warden. _Ooh, King Fergus would have an entire litter of kittens on his shiny golden throne if he found out._

No, Alistair told himself sternly. Being Warden Commander was his little escape route from being Arl – if he was no longer the Commander, he'd just be _Your Grace_.

"Eargh…"

"What is it?" Jowan flicked him a look that clearly told him what he thought of Alistair's current mental state.

"Nothing," Alistair said hastily. "Nothing at all."

"Someone approaches," Zevran's voice called from point duty. His hands strayed to his sword and dagger; then fell to his sides. "Someone noisy."

Sure enough, a lone horseman came rattling towards them. As horse and rider approached, they could see it was a woman – quite definitely a woman from the mouldings on her very shiny armour. She was even helmed: an elaborately-styled thing with splayed wings on either side that made her look as though she had been heading to a fancy dress party dressed as a bird of prey.

She dismounted, approaching the party with all the confidence of someone who'd been in military service for barely a week, her enthusiasm was shiny as her armour.

"Warden Commander!" she pushed past the others, offering Alistair a snappy salute. "I've been sent to escort you to Vigils Keep!"

Alistair's heart flipped in his chest. _Damn Fergus! _he swore to himself. Out loud he said, "Bugger."

The young soldier blushed, eyes widening. Unable to think of anything else to do, she saluted him again, gauntlets ringing on her helm as metal met metal.

Alistair felt sorry for the woman for being the one to be sent after them, but he wasn't sorry for being irritable about it. There was an awkward pause between them before she added brightly, "It's an honour to meet you Ser! I've heard so much about you, Warden Commander!" As she punctuated every sentence with a salute, Alistair winced. She raised her arm for another salute, but he grabbed her hand.

"Stop, stop…" he commanded. "You're going to dent your helmet."

"Or take someone's eye out," Jowan drawled behind her.

"Ser! Yes Ser!" she raised her hand again, another salute managing to slip past Alistair's feebly flapping hands. He gave up. If she knocked herself out, it would save them from more exclamation marks.

"Right, let's just get go – don't salute! Let's just get going."

"The horse, Warden Commander is for…" she began, when Alistair felt a familiar prickle at the base of his neck – a feeling he had not felt for several months. Drawing his sword, he glanced quickly around him. Jowan had already drawn his own sword.

"To arms!" Alistair cried. "Darkspawn!"

The ground exploding in blackened fiends, the air filling with their eerie hooting and their decaying stench was almost a relief to him.


	10. A Thing of Beauty

-oo-

**Chapter 10 – A Thing of Beauty**

"Warden…"

Merran headed, distracted, towards Marduk. She had left Wynne sitting on the remains of a pillar, fanning herself with the Deep Roads map, Shale close by. The already elderly Mage had aged since they had parted - and it felt strange. The two of them had briefly discussed the final battle with the Archdemon and what may or may not have happened. Despite Wynne's own condition, the elder Mage was still somewhat baffled by the Old God's decision to return her to this world, citing unfinished business as a possible reason.

_But…What unfinished business? _Had Urthemiel inadvertently left the clothes iron on its good pair of smallclothes? Forgot to snuff a candle somewhere? Left a pot on the stove? Whatever the true reason, Merran did wonder whether once she had done this last thing for the Old God; she would disappear for good.

She hoped it wouldn't happen before she had a chance to see Alistair again. The thought that he might be out there, somewhere – and she would never see him – made her heart ache. He didn't need to see _her. _That was okay. For her, it had been a blink of an eye. For him, it had been a year or more. It was quite likely he'd moved on. Wynne had told her he had taken up the mantle of Warden Commander and that made her smile. He'd make a _great _Commander, she thought. But no, she didn't have to have him acknowledge her – maybe seeing her alive would be too confusing for him, she didn't know. All _she _needed to know was that he was all right. That he was well…and smiling.

So lost in her thoughts was she that Merran didn't see Marduk's expression or the fact that he was concealing something behind his back. When he patted the broken bit of architecture beside him, she sat automatically. She didn't expect to see a flower being extended towards her.

Merran startled, roused out of her thoughts by the sight of the delicate little thing. It was a deep, iridescent blue, with thick curling petals around a tuft of black stamens.

"Do you know what this is?" Marduk asked, causing Merran to go very still. She looked into earnest hazel eyes and was reminded of amber ones. Laughing amber eyes shining like warm sunlight or darkened with passion; strong limbs entwined with hers.

"It's a cavern rose," Marduk explained. "I found it a while back and thought I'd…give it to you."

Merran stared at the flower, lost for words, tears rushing to her eyes.

"In a way," he said softly. "It reminded me of you."

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound would emerge; her brain a blank.

"Cavern roses grow in the most unlikely of places," Marduk explained matter-of-factly. "Beauty and strength where you'd least expect it. And you're…" His cheeks turned pink as he looked up at her shyly. "You're like that. Strong, and beautiful and smart and all those other things you'd – well, you'd probably hurt me for saying…I'm…sorry?"

Merran had stood up suddenly, hands clenching and unclenching by her sides. She was breathing fast, raising one hand to press against her eyes.

"Warden?" he asked, concerned by the paleness of her skin.

"I have to…" her voice trembled. "I have to…to go…"

She dashed off, almost sprinting across the broken square. She had run blindly away, tripping over an upturned stone tile, stumbling and almost falling, when a large tentacle crashed through a wall, curling around her middle and lifting her high.

-oo-

"_Die, fiend!"_

Alistair ran an exasperated hand across his face as the young helmed soldier jumped up and down on the remains of a Genlock archer. She had acquitted herself well in the field, Alistair noted with a professional eye. Her sword work was quite excellent. She was fast and she was efficient. She would make a great Grey Warden…if she didn't constantly get in everyone's way, shouting battle cries before engaging every single foe and then insisting on…ensuring that the deceased enemy did not get up to walk away.

In the case of this Genlock, it would first have to reassemble itself…He winced, watching the soldier stomp with great determination on the Genlock's head. _Maybe not so much 'reassemble', but 'reconstitute'…_

Jowan sidled up to Alistair, wiping his longsword with a cloth pilfered from an Ogre. As all an Ogre usually wore was a single loincloth and shoulder guards, there was a dead Ogre lying someone on the field of battle, exposing itself in death.

"Is there any use telling her she should avoid the Taint?" Jowan asked.

Oghren joined them, crossing both arms on the head of his axe. "Grey Warden recruit, huh?" he nudged Alistair's side. "Standard's fallen a bit…"

"Why Oghren?" Alistair sighed. "Are _you _hoping to join?" He turned to Jowan. "And…" He shook his head furiously. "I don't know!"

As he slapped his forehead, the soldier completed her post-battle assault to her satisfaction and approached the three men, chest heaving as she caught her breath. She still managed to snap off a salute. "All Darkspawn! Defeated! Warden Commander!"

There was a deep chuckle at waist height. "Might be one Archdemon short of a Blight," Oghren chortled, attempting to dig his elbow into Alistair's hip. "But she's gotta _great_ rack…"

Alistair rolled his eyes. It would have been useless to tell Oghren off, so he didn't try.

"Look, erm…?"

"Mhairi! Warden Commander!"

"Riiiiiight…Mhairi. A bit of advice."

"Yes! Warden! Commander!"

"You actually only need to kill a Darkspawn once, okay? Just the once is fine – and then we move on to the next one, until all of them have fallen over."

"But! Warden Commander! All Darkspawn must be eliminated!"

"Yes," Alistair said, trying to be patient – and trying not to sound as though he was speaking to a three-year old – and finding it difficult. "You have. And…"

"They must be crushed!" Mhairi held up her hand and curled it into a fist. "Their evil stain wiped from this world!"

Alistair turned to Jowan, "How far is it Vigil's Keep from here?" he asked in a lowered voice as Mhairi continued to Crush, Kill and Destroy Darkspawn in her head.

Watching Mhairi trample The Abominated Fiends of the Deep Roads in horror, Jowan whispered back, "About a week on foot."

"Hm…" Alistair mused, as Mhairi moved on to Purging all of Ferelden of the Dark Evil of Darkspawn. He had a plan; a flash of brilliance that not even Avernus himself would have come up with.

Squaring his shoulders, Alistair barked, "Warden Recruit Mhairi!"

"Ser! Yes! Ser!"

He tried not to smile, but his eyes reflected something calculating. Could he turn this woman – this girl – into a Grey Warden? Could he make her Tainted and give her the strength of a Grey Warden; their reflexes and their powers of healing? Could he make her into a Grey Warden and then unleash her into the world? Well…

"You wish to be a Grey Warden?" he asked her.

"It would be a dream of a lifetime! Warden Commander!" Mhairi stood so stiffly to attention; she was in danger of dislocating her spine.

"Excellent!" Alistair clapped his hand together. "That's what I like to hear. I have a mission for you. A _Grey Warden _mission, that I think you would be well-suited for. Now, there is a…_special _Grey Warden outpost, up in Soldier's Peak, where you'll find a very interesting and rather elderly 'senior' Grey Warden called Avernus. Here's a map. What I'd like you to do is…"

At this point Jowan had to walk away, clapping his hands over his ears, for added measure. He didn't want to hear the rest. Nor did he want to speculate who would have the worst deal – Avernus or Mhairi. He suspected the former. The thing was, he knew that Alistair knew the young female soldier was just a recruit – she hadn't undergone the Joining yet, so as a Grey Warden, she would be absolutely useless for one of Avernus' 'ethical' experiments; unless the old Mage knew how to perform the Joining. He doubted it. Grey Warden laboratory rats would have been continued to be created otherwise.

After a few moments, Alistair came back, retrieved Mhairi's horse and led it to her. He even helped her mount and waved her off. When he rejoined Jowan, he was looking smug – too smug - in Jowan's opinion.

"Do I even want to ask what you told her?" Jowan asked. On Alistair's other side, Zevran was shaking his head, shoulders shaking in amusement. Leliana's face however, was thunderous.

"No," Alistair replied uncooperatively. He'd had enough _chatting _to last him to the end of the week. "You don't."

"So we got rid of the Glory Hound," Oghren grunted behind them. "What now?"

"I don't know about you, my friends," Zevran's golden eyes twinkled. "But I could do with a drink."

"For once Elf," Oghren patted Zevran on the back. "I agree with you. Piss up it is." As an afterthought, he turned to Alistair. "Boss?"

"Yeah…" Alistair replied, looking suddenly grim. "Sure."

-oo-

Merran clawed at the broken and cracked floor tiles, dragging herself across the ground. She couldn't stand and she was losing sensation in her right arm. Hauling herself to the nearest wall, Merran kept one eye on the battle, while she cast healing spells on herself. Halfway through re-knitting her shattered shin bone, she cast a spirit barrier in front of Wynne just in time. A second later a small explosion rocked the area, showering them all in dust and grit as one of Marduk's little exploding lyrium-balls went off.

Shin-bone finished, she started on her cracked ribs, feeling her lungs refill with air as they too were repaired. Taking a deep breath, she rose gingerly to her feet – another lyrium-ball exploded with great force, splattering a nearby wall with blood and gore. There was a pause. Merran thought that was the last of them, when the floor erupted with more.

Gritting her teeth, Merran leant over the side of the half wall that was propping her up and happened to look over the side…

_Andraste's stitched britches! _"Far below, visible from this level was not only one Broodmother, but _three _of them. Gulping down rising bile at the sight of them, Merran glanced back at the others. All three of them were a tad occupied at present.

Another of Marduk's lyrium-balls went off, shaking the entire room. There was a loud squeaking above. Merran followed the noise. There was a large, suspended platform, carved intricately with depictions of Dwarven battles of long ago around the edge. Deep, regular gouges in the rock showed where once, lamps would have burned…so somewhere, there would be a mechanism for lowering it, right?

Merran looked about. Of course, if she miscalculated, the Dwarven chandelier could just fall and cap the top of the opening and the Broodmothers would continue spitting out Darkspawn…spawn…

Stumbling, Merran found the first release and kicked the lever. The first of the chains rattled noisily free. As she head to the next one, a tentacle snaked around her ankle and dragged her sliding across the floor. Hands scrabbling, nails tearing, she managed to grab a hold of a broken piece of tile, stabbing it into the tentacle. Blood splattered her hands and face – the tentacle let go and she was racing across the room once more to the other release. Jerking the brake lever, Merran heard the sound of chains falling…then come to an abrupt stop. She looked up – the stone chandelier had angled downwards, but the ancient chain had broken and snagged on an eyelet.

"Merran!" Wynne yelled at her from the other side. "Hurry!"

"Chain's caught!" she shouted back, casting her gaze around the room for a likely weapon; any weapon that she could throw at the chain to somehow dislodge it. She'd darted away, spotting a likely rock, when Marduk shot past her. Before she could say anything, he'd stepped up onto the half wall and launched himself upwards, grabbing the edge of the dangerously tilting chandelier with one and a half hands. Using pits in the surface of the slab, he climbed to the centre of the chandelier, a lyrium-ball hanging from its wick in his mouth.

Shooting her one last, cheeky grin, he lit the lyrium-ball…She ducked as it detonated, releasing the second and third chain and sending the chandelier plummeting below. There was an almighty crash followed by a second explosion. The wall that Merran leant against crumpled, nearly sending her plunging head first into the long drop.

She inched backwards, hands over her head, sobbing and shaking her head. He'd been about to give her a flower, was her only thought – and now he was gone. Wiping her eyes, Merran rolled onto her hands and knees, surveying the damage through a cloud of thick dust.

"Merran!" She heard Wynne's voice call. "I need you."

She stumbled across the floor towards Wynne's voice. The elderly Mage had sounded injured and she quickened her pace, finding an indistinct, huddled shape and heading towards it.

"Are you…?" she began, to find Wynne, bending over the curled form of Marduk.

"Holy Maker…!" Merran exclaimed softly, her eyes going to the Senior Enchanter. "Is he…?"

"Still alive," Wynne confirmed, "but barely – and I don't have enough magic to heal him. Can you…?"

Merran bent down quickly, not needing to be told twice. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and stepped part way into the Fade. She was going to need a _lot _of healing magic for this one…But she didn't care, sensing Hunger Demons approach at the edges. Drawing on all the magical energy she could harvest, Merran felt the claws of something ravenous before great, dragon-like jaws snapped at the demons, scattering them back to prowl along the perimeter.

She returned, opening her eyes, just as Marduk drew a breath and his eyes fluttered open. He smiled up at her briefly, before Wynne sent him to sleep.

Merran sat back, wiping her forehead of sweat and dirt. Unexpectedly, Wynne chuckled at her.

"Nothing ever changes, does it?" Wynne said, observing her with affection and gratitude. "After all this time child, you are still full of surprises…"


	11. Surprises

-oo-

**Chapter 11 – Surprises**

"Well, there it is," Oghren announced as the party stood at the bustling main gates to the city of Amaranthine.

"Am…ah…ran…theen. And a better collection of Chantry scum and rogues, you'll never find – except of course in Denerim…Or Orzammar…and that crappy place in Redcliffe that served watered down ale…Oh, and…"

"Yes, yes, we get it, Oghren," Jowan shifted his pack so that it 'inadvertently' clipped the Dwarf around the side of his hairy red head. As though his neck was made of rubber, Oghren's head snapped back, wobbling from side to side.

"I'll remember that when you're lyin' face down in the dirt, choking on your own vomit, Mage…" Oghren growled up at him menacingly.

"Gentlemen…" Zevran diplomatically inserted himself between the two men, placing a calming hand on their respective shoulders. He smiled sweetly; mostly because the guards at the gate were observing these well-armed newcomers with suspicion. He threw them a nod of acknowledgement. "We should move on," Zevran suggested, "before we draw too much attention to ourselves."

"Eh?" Oghren groused. "You wanna be eeg-cog neato with Old Grumpy Grumbles Grey Warden here?"

Jowan eyed Alistair's plate armour thoughtfully. He transferred his gaze briefly across the crowd. Nope. No one else here wore fancy, shiny plate armour with a great big dancing Griffon on the front. Perhaps they should have put him in something else…? And there was no denying Alistair stood out – shiny armour or not. The Redcliffe Knights were well-known for their ornate red mail and plate. Were the entire contingent of them turn up for a bit of sea air and sunbaking, their Warden Commander would still stand out. Large, glaring, angry looking men in big armour always drew the kind of attention Jowan did not like. He'd spent most of his life in the Tower of Magi, keeping his head down and trying to be good. Excepting that whole Blood Mage recruiting thing, poisoning a member of the nobility, having an affair with an Apostate, conspiring with said Apostate to magically deceive a senior Grey Warden and fathering a God Child…he'd been a fine, upstanding citizen.

Warden's honour.

"I see no reason why we shouldn't be here," Alistair informed them, frowning at the crowds. There seemed to be a large number of people simply loitering around at the main gates. Shouldn't they be going into the city? Some people had erected rather ramshackle tents and lean-to's. Judging by the number of muddy children playing around them, they had been here for some time…was that usual in these parts? Thinking he might find some answers in the city itself, he headed through the gates.

"Does anyone remember that the Warden Commander should be on his way to Vigils Keep?" Leliana bristled.

"Don't need to," Oghren wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "When you're doing such a good job rememberin' for us."

"Are you so eager to meet your fellow Orlesians, my dear Leliana?" Zevran asked softly, trying to divine exactly what it was that was bothering their resident Bard.

"Not at all," Leliana raised her chin haughtily. "But someone needs to remind that…_Recalcitrant _of his duty!"

Zevran's eyes narrowed. He remembered having a similar conversation with her a year and a half ago, when the question of _occupying the throne _had come up. Leliana had argued then for Alistair taking up the position – but surely that subject had been concluded to everyone's satisfaction by now? What benefit could she possibly have for constantly prodding Alistair to take up command…? Or was it a title that she was interested in? If so, she was certainly not working in her best interests by constantly antagonising the man.

Regardless of her motives or strategy, he was tired of this discussion. The subject of her argument had long disappeared into the city and his throat was far too parched to continue.

"Well duty can take a running leap, for all I care," Oghren growled. "The only duty I'm interested in lies in the bottom of a tankard."

"He is the Hero of Ferelden," Leliana persisted stubbornly. "Of all people, he should know that he cannot spend his days wandering aimlessly. How long does he think he can continue to live this way?"

Pursing his lips, Zevran folded his arms across his chest. "You think our Warden Commander has not done enough for his country?" he asked with deceptive amiability.

"I…" Leliana's eyes flashed angrily. "That is not…!"

"Ah…quit your jabberin'," Oghren prodded them both impatiently with his finger. "While I see Red's point – Warden Commander doesn't play noble, people are going to think the Orlesians are invadin' again – and Grey Wardens too. It'll be like Soldier's Peak all over again, except with better cheese." He turned to Leliana. "But like the Elf says – how many time's the little Pike Twirler's gonna have to save the world before someone else volunteers for the job? If it were me, I'd tell the whole lot of 'em to sod off and retire somewhere warm where the ladies are warmer and the ale's nicely chilled. Plus…" Oghren trailed off, lowering his voice. "You know as well as I do why he's wanderin' _aimlessly._"

"Exactly, Oghren!" Leliana threw her hands up in the air. "He needs purpose; something to occupy his mind. How will he learn to move on otherwise?"

There was a rude sound behind them. Jowan pushed to the front. He glared at Leliana with such fire; she blanched, shrinking back against Zevran.

"I'm _tired _of you and this conversation," he spat at her vehemently. "This is none of your business. Either go home, or _shut the hell up!_"

Hitching his pack up his shoulder again, he swept a look of pure disgust over them all. Turning his back on them, he stepped through the gates of the city.

-oo-

"Here…"

"Merran, are you sure this time?"

Wynne appeared at her shoulder. The passage was strewn with the remains of wild animals and what looked like stalagmites, but had turned out to be some kind of…_cocoon._ They had trod carefully, following the path through the Dwarven ruins, after the first encounter with the things that had slithered out of them. Shale had taken great pleasure stomping on them – especially if they had been occupied at the time.

The golem stood looking at them speculatively now, possibly willing something to emerge so she could despatch them as messily as she could. Propped up against her, looking pale and tired, was Marduk. They would dearly have liked to have been able to stop for a while to allow the young Dwarf some more recovery time, but he had insisted they continue on. Dwarves were tough; and he was eager to prove it – and himself.

The cocoons had a dried up look them, which had encouraged Merran to come this way, sure that she had felt a breeze of fresher air blow from this direction.

The passage had narrowed to about shoulder width; which might prove a problem for Shale, but…Wynne pushed her face forward, sniffing at the air.

"It does seem promising…I think I see light ahead," Wynne squinted. "Sunlight."

_Sunlight…_Merran turned the word over in her head, thinking how wonderful it sounded. She began to move forward when she felt Wynne's hand on her shoulder. She knew immediately what it meant.

Grimacing apologetically, she reassured the older Mage, "I'm just going to scout ahead."

She didn't have to go far before the ground dipped sharply. There were pools of water here, ink-dark and sullen. Merran studiously avoided them, careful where she placed her feet. A little further on the ground sloped upwards. In the dim light Merran saw that there was a narrow set of stone steps, leading to what looked like a door, half broken and fallen off its ancient hinges. It was through here that the sunlight had shone.

"There's a door…!" she called back to the others. As she looked back at the area around her, she noticed more of those horrible cocoon things, hoping that they too had been long free of their hatchlings. "And there's more than enough room for Shale!"

A cracking sound heralded part of the ceiling behind her collapsing before Shale appeared; covered in rubble and dust. Marduk and Wynne came through next, hands clasped over their faces against the dust. Marduk limped up the stairs, testing the door.

"It's wedged," he told them, but if Lady Shale would do the honours…"

Shale's mouth crooked upwards before she battered the door down with a single swing of her mighty fist. The door shattered – not too bad considering it too, was made of stone. Sunlight bloomed through the opening Shale had made and as one, despite the choking dust, they breathed the outside air. Shale was the first to exit, one hand coming up to shield her eyes against the glare of sunlight. Merran squeezed through next, eager to be outside. She giggled, dancing a little jig, until she realised what lay on the ground around them.

"Eww…" She picked up a foot, hopping over to the nearest rock to scrape the remains of one of the hatchlings from the bottom of her boot.

Wynne emerged, holding her nose. "Andraste's flaming nosehairs!" she exclaimed.

"There's been a battle here," Marduk remarked, well aware his observation was redundant. He poked a dead Hurlock with his foot. "Recently too."

"More of those worm-like things, blech." Merran stood, fists on hips, surveying the mess. "But…" she frowned. "Only Darkspawn…usually there are, you know…"

Marduk came to stand beside her. "Dwarves?" he supplied helpfully. "Humans? Kardol said the Darkspawn had been acting oddly lately."

"They've been spontaneously expiring on their own?" Merran asked hopefully.

Marduk shook his head. "No. He says they've been…fighting each other." He chuckled at her expression. "Yeah, I had that face too when he told me."

"Well, whoever – or whatever they are," Wynne said, looking into the sky, trying to gauge the angle of the sun. "I have no desire to meet them. The sooner we are away from here, the happier I will be."

Marduk too looked up into the sky. He stood staring upwards, transfixed, until Merran gave him a nudge.

"That's a…long way up…" He breathed. "It's…It's so…_blue…_"

"Yeah," Merran rested her hand on his shoulder. "Brilliant, isn't it? Just wait until the sun goes down and the stars come out – and you've _got _to see the sunsets and sunrises!"

A voice clearing itself impatiently caused her to look sheepish. Wynne was right. They did need to be out of here soon, but if Darkspawn was about, was anywhere safe?

"If you're feeling like you're falling upwards," she told Marduk gently, "just focus on the ground."

"Oh, I don't care," Marduk told her, clenching his hands into determined fists. There was no way he was going to falter in front of her now. He shook his head as he swayed slightly. Gritting his teeth, he took a few calming breaths.

"The surface…right," he muttered. "_Right._ Let's go."

-oo-

Oghren led the way through the clamouring city. Amaranthine was very much like Denerim; if Denerim were to be squashed down to half its size, transferred to a collapsed sea cliff and smeared liberally with five-day old fish. There was no designated market area as such; merchants plying their wares along the streets wherever they could find a space big enough to erect a display table and attract customers. Their cries rang out the same way as everywhere else in Ferelden, while gentlemen and ladies strolled, soldiers patrolled and pickpockets thrived. Oghren felt a sting of pride. No matter where one went in Ferelden, nothing changed…

The Crown and Lion was located, ironically within good view of the large Chantry Cathedral. Whether placement had been intentional or not, Oghren didn't care, the tavern's ale barrels called to him in their sweet, wheat and barley siren song. He followed his nose right up to the door. Sniffing rapturously, he led them inside.

"I can smell fifteen types of ale in here," he announced dreamily. "But I think I'll go for the…" His eyes snapped open. "They got some Orzammar stout! Well, I never! All the way over _here…!"_

"Yeah," a disgruntled female voice chimed in. "I wonder why that is."

The compansions turned as a rather pretty, flame-haired female Dwarf stepped up to Oghren and slapped him twice – one slap per cheek – then taking a hold of both shoulders, kneed him hard in a place that made him double over with a loud grunt, eyes crossing.

"Fels…" Oghren squeaked, knees collapsing beneath him. "How're you doing?"

"Oh me and the baby's just doing fine, you useless pile of nug droppings," she snapped.

She crossed her arms across her chest. "So," she said, shifting her feet slightly to make it quite clear she was happy to repeat her congenial greeting to him. "Where the Stone have you been?"

"Oh, uh…" Oghren laughed nervously, straightening slightly, hands covering his parts protectively. "Here and there," he tried joking. "You know how it is…The life of a Hero of Ferelden..."

"No, actually I don't," the Dwarf woman snapped. "Because thanks to your drunken meandering all over the country, I have no idea."

"Oghren."

Alistair appeared behind the red-haired, angry Dwarf as though by magic, another armoured man beside him. "An introduction would be appreciated."

Oghren cleared his throat – the Dwarf woman glared at him expectantly. A nervous, sober Oghren who found it hard to string two words together was a sight to behold - and remember later for opportunities for embarrassment.

"Ah well…" he laughed brokenly, looking pale and scared. "Funny thing happened to me on the way to the Blight…" he began.

"Yes?" Alistair prompted, his tone of voice indicating more than his family jewels were at stake if he continued to delay responding.

"Got married," Oghren chuckled nervously, as though expecting an entire mountain to collapse on top of his head any moment – or perhaps wishing it would happen so he wouldn't have to explain all of this – or face this terrifying woman. "Had a kid…well had one before…but had to make an honest woman out of her…"

The woman snorted her opinion of 'honest'.

"Well anyway," he risked a single hand to gesture at the red-haired Dwarf. "This is Felsi…Felsi, meet uh…the Warden Commander…"

The Dwarven woman looked up, transferring her angry gaze from Oghren to glare at Alistair. Before she could speak however, Alistair gave a bark of laughter that had absolutely nothing to do with humour whatsoever.

"_You?_" Alistair asked in disbelief. "Married with a child? That's…_terrifying…_! Who let you do _that?_"

-oo-

A/N: Don't worry, Oghren isn't turning into Obi Wan Kenobi. I just couldn't resist…he misquotes like crazy anyway.

Also, a rather belated big thank you to those who have left reviews, especially suggestions and tips. I'm just flying by the seat of my pants here…circling…looking for a spot to land…


	12. Discovery

-oo-

**Chapter 12 – Discovery**

Warmth washed through him; his skin tingled where her hands brushed his arms. This magic thing was great, even if – being a Dwarf – he was slightly immune to it. Repairing ruptured organs, torn flesh and broken bones had been easier, but the rejuvenating spells she sent his way were being resisted by generations of Dwarves living too close to lyrium. He still ached, he still found it hard walking all day; and he still found his breath labouring in his chest just walking up a simple hill; when before he could sprint all day and not be bothered by the exertion. But he was determined to show her he could keep up. The fact that she knew her magic was being slightly wasted on him but she still did it made him even more determined to show her he wasn't just some weak tag-along.

Besides…what man wouldn't want to impress a pretty girl by his strength and stamina? The Warden – and he still couldn't bring himself to call her by her name – was unlike any girl he'd been introduced to in Orzammar. Dwarven girls were lovely, but matches between couples were usually quite businesslike. Until the accident in the family forge (and his decision to join the Legion of the Dead), Marduk had resigned himself to a life as an ordinary Smith and a mutually-arranged match with a girl from a suitable family. In all probability he would have ended up with someone from another Smith caste. His older brother had been matched – a while back – with a girl called Dagna. His brother didn't marry her; Marduk hearing some whispers of a scandal hastily hushed up, but Varl was happy with someone else now…he supposed. Marduk had left the family before his brother married, so he didn't know for sure. Varl had seemed to have looked forward to it.

When he'd joined the Legion, he'd resigned himself to spending the rest of his death fighting Darkspawn…and then he'd met Her.

She wasn't much taller than he was – and he was glad of that. If she'd been as tall as the older Mage, he'd be constantly talking to her bosom…not that he would have minded…It was just that he enjoyed being able to look into her eyes. They were brown like raw iron ore and when she smiled at him it felt like he was being warmed from the inside out – and she smiled at him a lot. He'd never met anyone that took everything in her stride with a smile and a wink.

He liked that…and he liked…her. Rather a lot.

She had her eyes closed, her face inches from his. All he had to do was lean forward a little and…he hesitated a tad too long. Her eyes sprang open as she chirped brightly. "All done!" She tilted her head at him. "I know this seems to be taking a while, but we are getting there. In a couple of days, you'll start feeling more like yourself again."

Mentally kicking himself for not taking what could have been a good opportunity, Marduk shrugged. "Don't feel bad," he told her. "This is my fault for being a magic-repelling Dwarf."

She laughed at him. "Oh, it's not that bad. You've taken to magic quite well, actually. I remember when we used to…" She stopped suddenly, biting her lower lip. Breaking her gaze from his, she added softly, "But that was in another lifetime." Her laughter this time was self-deprecating, mocking - and he frowned. She didn't have to do that. He thought being a Mage must be _incredible_. _Mages _were incredible – and this Mage in particular (as far as he was concerned), was _awesome. _She should never have to feel guilty for being born with magic.

"Listen, War…M-Merran…" he began haltingly. "I just wanted to say that…well, how much fun you've made this trip out to the surface...for…for me."

She punched him playfully on the shoulder. _Oh, punching was not good, _he told himself. "Aww, that's so sweet!" _Nor is _that _tone of voice…_

"I also wanted to tell you how much I…_like _you," he said, staring intently into her eyes. Much to his dismay, she punched him again.

"I like you too!" she said, grinning at him. _No! _his inner voice groaned. _She's supposed to blush and flutter her eyelashes at me when she says that…Not sound like a Provings Team mate after a bloody victory…_

"No, that's not what I mean," he said desperately. "What I mean is…"

"Merran!" Wynne's voice called urgently from the other side of their camp, causing Marduk's hands to curl into fists in his head. _Aargh! Why does the other one always interrupt us?_

It was too late; Merran had stood up, turning away towards her colleague.

"I can smell smoke," Wynne told them, "Either something is on fire or else some_one _has set up camp close to us."

Merran nodded in understanding. She turned to Marduk, who sighed and stood too. "We should scout ahead," she suggested, "Marduk, do you think you'd be up for it?"

The Dwarf spread his hands wide, resigned to try again at a later date. "Ready and willing!" he said cheerfully.

As the two of them began their way towards the source of the smoke, Marduk thought this could be his second chance. They would be alone; there could be an opportunity for…further advancement of his cause. As Merran walked past the older Mage, Wynne's arm snaked out and grabbed her shoulder. She looked stern as she waggled a warning finger at her. "Scout only," she told them both. "I want no heroics from either of you. If I hear even a whisper of an explosion or a scream, so help me, I'll…be very Senior Enchanterish at the both of you."

Merran grasped her Senior's shoulder reassuringly, "No heroics Wynne. We'll be back soon."

As Marduk passed by the Senior Enchanter, she gave him an odd look that he could not decipher – disapproval? Concern? He wasn't too sure. What he was sure of was that the Old One appeared to have known what he had been up to when they were interrupted.

He'd have to watch that.

-oo-

Alistair stared down at Oghren. He was not happy. Nor…it could be said, was Oghren.

"Do you _really _want to tell me what's going on?" Alistair demanded quietly. Underneath the calm tone, Oghren could sense turbulences and sudden wind changes. Once there was a time when Oghren would have ignored the undercurrents in the Warden's voice – not that waters had ever run deep with the almost-Templar. While they had been travelling across Ferelden, it had been easy to read Alistair. What one saw was pretty much what one got, in the end. It was only post-Blight that the young man had begun piling on layers against the outside world. Oghren could understand that, except in his case, he'd found comfort in the bottom of a bottle – and then as luck would have it – comfort in the arms of Felsi.

Fatherhood had never been part of any plan in Oghren's life. So when she'd sought him out in Denerim all those months ago, he'd been floored. For the first time since he'd realised he'd been abandoned by Branka, he'd been rendered completely piss-scared and speechless. The affair he'd had with Felsi in Orzammar had been a fun thing, but she'd gotten tired of his obsession with his former wife – not that he'd ever admit it to anyone – and had left for the surface.

The kid was almost walking, the last time he'd seen it…her. Those big blue eyes had looked up at him out of that pretty, chubby-cheeked face and he'd thought, _nah…no way was she his…_and then she had let loose a rumbling, almost musical belch and he just _knew_.

"Oghren?" Alistair prompted, his voice sharpening.

"Well…" Oghren flannelled, "I thought I just did."

The Warden Commander pinched the bridge of his nose. Giving his head a shake, he indicated the man beside him.

"This is Kristoff, a Warden from Vigil's Keep."

Kristoff bowed his head in greeting. "It is an honour, Sers," he said in a distinctly Orlesian accent. No one in the tavern appeared to bat an eyelid, so they assumed he was a regular. So did that mean the Orlesian Wardens had settled in and won everyone over? It seemed not.

Waving a serving girl over he whispered quietly to her and she nodded, indicating that they follow her. She led them upstairs to a small, private room at the back of the building. He made a point of closing the door, handing her a couple of gold coins before doing so. When the door was secure, he paused, then extracted a map and unrolled it across the small round table in the centre of the room. He and Alistair bent over it, the two men looking as though they had worked with each other for years, and not mere minutes.

"Here," Kristoff pointed to a marked spot on the map along the easternmost part of the coastline. "The Blackmarshes. All my enquiries so far have led me here. I had just been about to leave when you came upon me."

"And why is this marsh of such importance?" Zevran asked politely feeling, as the others did, as though an important conversation had been missed. Of course, that was because it _had been._

"Strange sightings and rumours have led me to an abandoned village in this area in the Blackmarshes," Kristoff explained. "Since we have arrived here, there have been an increasing number of Darkspawn raids."

Oghren leant quietly against the wall, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Cullen whined softly, her paws resting on the edge of the table. Leliana looked as impatient as ever, but there was a glint in her eye that suggested she was finding even this small bit of information intriguing. Zevran relaxed, happy to listen and prod the conversation along, even if it was sadly, lacking alcohol as promised. It was better than everyone arguing as they had been doing since Soldier's Peak. His eyes travelled lastly to Jowan; the Mage's pale blue eyes fixed on the map.

"Surely the Grey Wardens didn't expect the Darkspawn raids to have stopped?" Alistair's frown deepened.

Kristoff gave a small shake of his head. "These raids appear to have been _coordinated,_" he informed them all, waiting until this information sunk in.

"Another Archdemon?" Alistair looked up, his eyes flicking briefly to Jowan before forcing his gaze back to Kristoff.

The Orlesian Warden gave his head a shake. "Nothing as simple," he explained. "Though I wish it were. It would mean we would know what we are dealing with."

Alistair snorted derisively. "I would hardly have called the Archdemon _simple,_" he said with a tightening of his jaw that told anyone who knew him to stay out of sword range.

"I meant no offence," Kristoff returned, Orlesian charm and diplomacy defusing Alistair's explosive temper. The man reminded him of Riordan – were all Wardens of a certain age this calm? "I merely meant to say that what we are dealing with is unheard of," Kristoff continued. "A planned attack without an Archdemon leading them? This makes no sense – and the attacks seem to be concentrated to this area only - most baffling. And these strange sightings in the Blackmarsh…it could be related."

Alistair nodded, eyes fixed on the map, but not really seeing the notations and markings carefully placed there by this very diligent Grey Warden.

"All right," he said grimly. "We'll return to Vigils Keep together." He held up his hand, forestalling any objection Kristoff might have against not following his original plan. "Once we've restocked," Alistair added carefully, "we'll head out to find out what's going on."

Kristoff sighed as the new Warden Commander pinned him with an inarguable stare. "Very well," he agreed. "I don't wish to delay but…I will be glad of your company. It will be as you say."

"Good." Alistair turned his laser-beam stare on Oghren. "And after this is sorted, you and I are going to have a little _talk._"

-oo-

It was Darkspawn. They supposed this close to the old Dwarven ruins, they shouldn't be surprised. But they had seen so few of them on the trip from Cadash Thaig to the surface, Merran had almost – _almost_ – forgotten the kind of wanton destruction they were capable of.

Marduk came up behind her, wiping his hands of blood. He'd volunteered to put the poor cattle out of its misery. Chunks of flesh had been bitten out of the thing. Half-tainted, it had been lowing in agony next to its writhing mate; the both of them still hitched to the covered wagon.

"We should probably burn the things," he said, looking around as she did at the cruel waste of life. They had probably been a caravan of merchants – just a small group - three wagons; mostly humans, possibly a family of Dwarves, judging by the size of the tiny pony carcass on the other side of the smouldering clearing. The Darkspawn had taken all they had wanted and then set the leftovers alight – but had not really made much of an effort to make sure _everything _had burned.

She felt a light touch on her arm. "Warden?"

The wind changed direction suddenly, blowing the stench of death and half-burned flesh over the two of them. Merran swallowed convulsively, her eyes scanning what was left of the caravan.

"There are no women…" she whispered.

Marduk shook his head. No. No women. And he didn't want to voice the probable reason why. Reaching up, he gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze before heading back into the centre of the clearing. He didn't want to mention it, but it would be a good idea to check around the area just in case for anything they could use. Untainted food, weapons, utensils…a map of the area…He turned over a broken barrel – it had been smashed open – whatever had been in it had leaked across the ground, staining it dark. There were two others, similarly damaged, but there was a chest; lock still intact, partially concealed underneath a low shrub. He squeezed past the broken barrels, reaching for the chest, when he noticed a small foot…

The urgency in Marduk's voice had Merran turning back and sprinting towards him. He was carrying something in his arms. As she approached, she realised it was a child – so tiny, it had to be a Dwarven child, or a human toddler. They found a patch of relatively undisturbed ground, where Marduk gently deposited the boy. Merran leant down – he was still breathing. Pushing up his sleeves, and the cuffs of his pants, she checked his skin for any lesions, cuts or gashes. She practically tore the fabric of his shirt to check his chest and back. Leaning back finally, she brushed the hair from her sweating forehead.

"He's untainted…" she told her companion, almost crying in relief. Scooping the tiny child up in her arms, she said. "We should get back to Wynne," she explained. "She knows…children better than I do."

Marduk nodded – he could come back later to do another search. Rising, he followed her back to the Mage and golem, thankful to the Ancestors for small mercies.

-oo-


	13. A Keeper

-oo-

**Chapter 13 – A Keeper**

It was late afternoon by the time Alistair and his small band reached the outskirts of Vigils Keep. The family home of the Arl of Amaranthine was surrounded by cottages and the sketchy structures of a small village. Despite being a couple of hours away from sunset, the sky above the Keep looked on fire…much like Denerim had looked when the horde had turned up. Silently, the group drew their weapons, slipping into position without discussion – Alistair and Cullen in the lead, Leliana and Zevran falling to the rear. In the middle, Jowan set their weapons aflame, drawing his own sword beside Kristoff.

The nerves at the base of Jowan's neck felt like they had been strung through a Smith's vice, then compressed flat. If his Darkspawn detection abilities could be believed, they were everywhere…_Everywhere…_but where were they?

They heard the screams before they saw the Darkspawn. An Ogre approached; seemingly strolling through the gates of the village. On seeing them, it simply kept going, barrelling through the group as Hurlocks perched on the roofs sent a hail of arrows towards them. Jowan's hands spouted fire; Alistair ducked, absentmindedly brushing off spot fires on the exposed leather of his gloves as Darkspawn arrows were set aflame midair. He charged at the Ogre; Cullen worrying at its legs while he bounded upwards, beheading the creature in a single stroke. He hit the ground on the other side of the Ogre literally running, his next target the Emissary just tucked around the corner. A spear of lightning glance off him, electricity sparking along the rim of his left pauldron. He concentrated – draining the Emissary of mana and then hitting it with a Holy Smite that was mostly anger, sending it spinning backwards. As Alistair moved on to his next target, Cullen pounced, tearing the Emissary to shreds.

Behind them, Alistair could hear Leliana picking the archers from the tops of the buildings one by one, Zevran knocking the Darkspawn arrows out of the air by her side before they could reach either of them.

"More up the hill!" Alistair yelled, the group working their way through the village, cutting Darkspawn down as they went. Kristoff stayed close by Jowan, fascinated by the way the Mage alternated between wielding dual swords and casting spells, his own broadsword cutting swathes through waves of Darkspawn. By the time the group had made it through the village, more soldiers – survivors from the guard – had joined them, happily picking off stragglers at the back of the advancing group of Grey Wardens.

Before they reached the main gates, there was an almighty explosion. Flaming debris fell from the sky, along with pieces of Darkspawn. Alistair could have sworn he heard someone cackle in glee as they passed under the portcullis.

They allowed Kristoff to take the lead – he knew the Keep better than they, after all – following him past the guard towers into the keep itself, continuing to carve through Darkspawn as they went. In the main hall, there was another explosion as a set of double-doors glowed red, then erupted into flying shards of melted metal and wood. Stepping sideways through the remains of the doorway, what Alistair thought was a woman with a ponytail appeared, shaking off the last dregs of a fire spell from her hands.

Head turned to the room she'd just exited, the newcomer didn't see the new arrivals until he'd bumped into Alistair – and then Alistair conceded it wasn't a woman after all, but a _Mage_…unless she'd forgotten to shave that morning…

Apart from a brief blink, the Mage barely showed surprise, saying: "Ooh visitors! If I'd known, I would have tidied up a bit." He threw them a disarming grin, his brown eyes travelling over the group until they found Leliana. Gaze warming, he added, "You know how it is: just can't seem to housetrain the Darkspawn. Tracking their Taint prints all over my nice clean floors…"

A short way behind Alistair, Jowan cleared his throat, bringing the unknown Mage's attention to him. The Mage's eyes narrowed, mouth crooking up as recognition flared. Pasting a smile onto his face, he exclaimed, "Hey! I remember you from the Tower…Weren't you voted Apprentice Most Likely to Turn Blood Mage Before His Harrowing?"

Giving his shortsword a bit of a spin, Jowan glared sideways at the speaker. "And I remember _you…_'Johnny Come Again?' _That _was the name, right?"

"Oh, ha, ha," the Mage waggled a finger at Jowan. The smile slipped from his face. "_Maleficar_…" he muttered darkly under his breath.

Bristling, Jowan took a step forward, growling, "_Apostate…_"

"_Children_," Alistair interrupted. Both men looked at the tall Warden Commander, as though surprised to find they had an audience. "Much as I hate to break up this touching reunion…I believe we have _Darkspawn_ to take care of…?"

A scream high above them punctuated that statement. A grey shape fell from the walkway, hitting the littered ground with a sickening crunch and messy splatter.

"Dear Maker," Kristoff muttered. "Where are all the Grey Wardens?"

Peering at the remains of the fallen Keep's soldier, the pony tailed Mage remarked, "This isn't one of them, I take it?"

Lip curling in distaste, Kristoff shook his head.

"Well," Alistair said grimly. "My guess is wherever this poor sod came from is where we'll find some answers."

Nodding in understanding, Kristoff once more led the party onwards; Alistair pausing very briefly to instruct the guardsmen to remain in the main hall. He hoped no more of the creatures would turn up down here. As they followed Kristoff, he jabbed a finger into the new Mage's face, making the man look cross-eyed.

"Your name?" Alistair barked.

"Anders!" Anders barked right back.

"Right, Anders. I'd appreciate it if you stayed in the rear with Leliana."

"Leliana…" Anders turned name over in his mouth like boiled sweets. "I get to escort the pretty lady to the party? Lucky me!" Happy to follow that order, he fell to the back of the group, to the very pretty red-haired thing with the glittering blue eyes. Giving her his best smoulder, he purred, "And might I call you Leli?"

"_No._" the redhead snapped.

Anders grinned at her departing back, enjoying the view. "Oh well," he shrugged, unconcerned by her rejection. "Your loss. I'm known all over Ferelden for my Hurlock Shimmy."

-oo-

"Hey there…"

Marduk plonked himself beside Merran. Crossing his legs, he positioned the sack in front of him. He'd been able to sneak back to the merchant campsite and was quite proud of the haul he'd managed to salvage. _Treasure_, he thought. He rummaged around the sack, extracting a bit of folded parchment. "Look at this: a map." While he took other objects from the sack – water flasks, a frying pan, a tiny box of salt – Merran unfolded the parchment.

"It's a map of Amaranthine." She held up the map for Wynne's inspection. "Does this mean that's where we are?" she asked. Wynne lowered herself to the ground beside them with difficulty. She took the proffered document, perusing it with a finger tapping pursed lips.

"It would seem logical…" Her forehead creased, trying to read the chicken scratching on the hand-drawn map. "According to this we could be either here – in the Winding, no _Wending _Wood, or the…Kurtwoof…oh the writing is atrocious..._Knotwood _Hills. I admit, I'm hoping for the latter. If we can make our way to the Northern Road, we are more likely to find someone who could help us with directions, than in a marsh." She added wryly, "unfortunately we are just as likely to find bandits."

"So," Marduk asked, curious, "Where is the nearest settlement or town?" He leant over Merran to peer at the map in Wynne's lap, his shoulder purposely pressing up against Merran's. "According to this it'll be…well it looks like Virgin's Kick."

"Vigils Keep, young man," Wynne corrected sharply, sure that the young Dwarf had mispronounced it on purpose, until she looked at the map herself – and then she thought it was Ulees Bees – she preferred the Dwarf's version.

Merran pinched Marduk's nose playfully, pushing him backwards off her lap, while Wynne continued to look thoughtful.

"Vigils Keep…" she mused. "As I recall that was where the Grey Wardens were to go."

"All two of them?" Merran asked quietly.

"A contingent from Orlais," Wynne said, adding at Merran's surprised expression. "Of course, you wouldn't know. A smallish group was given permission to enter the country – on the proviso a Ferelden Warden Commander would lead them."

"Alistair…" A half smile crossed Merran's face and she gave a shy laugh. "It feels…odd, but good to know he's taken up the position Duncan held so long ago." She laughed again to herself, dropping her chin into the palm of her hand, looking off into the distance. Marduk wondered what it was she was seeing.

"If we can find the Northern Road," Wynne continued, watching the younger Mage intently, "We can head to Vigils Keep. If nothing else, we should be able to pass on the information about the Darkspawn."

"Yeah…that's a great…" Merran looked up sharply. "What?" she asked. "Go to see the Warden Commander? Alistair?"

Wynne gave a soft chuckle, "Well, of course. Isn't that what we were discussing?"

"I…" Merran's brows drew down, her hands twisting themselves in her lap. "I…I don't know whether that would be a good idea, Wynne."

"And why not?"

"What if I'm here only temporarily?" Merran said softly, chewing on her bottom lip. "What if after I've completed whatever I'm supposed to complete, I return to the Fade? Or…you know…_beyond_? Wynne, what if…? I can't…" She exhaled a lungful of air. "I can't do that to him, Wynne…fill him with false hope. I mean he was all…He'd…"

Wynne placed a hand on Merran's knee, "Ah child," she sighed. "Why do you say 'false'? If he knew that you were alive, he'd want to see you."

"What if he doesn't?"

Merran stood up. She began to pace, wringing her hands. Wynne watched her with concern. She had been the one to warn them both about guarding themselves against heartbreak…but Wynne knew now she had been wrong. She had been wrong – and Alistair had been right. Life was too short.

"Merran," Wynne pointed out reasonably. "The fact is, you are here. While we cannot possibly know the plans of an Old God, you have a physical, tangible form. Who is to say this isn't a permanent arrangement?"

"We don't," Merran agreed. "Which is why I'm not willing to take that chance."

"Merran, this is most unlike you," Wynne told her a little more impatiently than she would have liked. "Taking chances is part of life…of living…"

Merran sighed, dropping her head into her hands. When she raised it again, her expression was bleak but determined. "I don't care whether I'm running true to anyone's expectations, Wynne. I just won't take that chance." She shook her head sadly at the Senior Enchanter. "I died that day, Wynne. On the top of Fort Drakon. I felt my soul being ripped from my body and I ceased to exist."

"But yet you remained in the Fade," Wynne reasoned, reminding her, "You didn't move on. Why was that?"

Merran turned away, her gaze coming to rest on Shale and the small, huddled shape of the little Dwarven boy. _Brogan…he said his name was Brogan…_Was everything that was happening to her part of some kind of plan? Finding the Legion of the Dead who had led her to Cadash Thaig and hence Wynne and Shale? Was she supposed to meet the other Grey Wardens again? Jowan and Riordan and Alistair? And in amongst all of this what part had Marduk and young Brogan to play in all of this? Urthemiel had tried to teach her Plonk! Had tried to teach her what all the pieces meant; how to move them across the board. Was that all they were to the Old God? Mere pieces on a game board to be moved around and sacrificed at will in order to win a strategic square?

_I play to lose…_Merran had told Urthemiel. She hoped it hadn't been a prophetic statement.

Turning back to Wynne, her thoughts tumbling inside her head, she said with all honesty, "I don't know…I just don't _know_…I'll…" It would mean not seeing him again, not risking _him_ seeing _her…Can I do that? I don't know that I can do that…_

"I'm going to go and check on Brogan," she announced, ending the conversation.

Marduk watched her go, feeling confused and a little fearful. He had no idea who or what the two Mages had been discussing. He was unfamiliar with human religion. All he knew was that 'Alistair' - this person she had possibly had an attachment to - was a man's name and despite everything in him wishing it were otherwise, this Alistair-man was most unlikely to be her brother, or uncle or…a rather mannish female best friend...It was depressing thought.

-oo-

Kristoff had led them up to one of the battlements. They followed the trail of dead bodies, picking their way over the bleeding – and in some cases; still warm – carcasses of Grey Wardens and Darkspawn. They'd had to break down the last door, causing enough noise to bring attention to themselves.

A tall, unhelmeted Emissary stood by one of the ancient siege engines; the semi-conscious form of an elderly soldier suspended in its fist. It turned on their arrival, regarding them with lidless, ghoul-pale eyes. Intelligence lay behind that gaze, curious and calculating.

"It seems its words be true," it hissed through its mouth – though it was more of a gash across its distorted face than an actual mouth – adding, "More than it has guessed."

Beside Alistair, Kristoff's sharp intake of breath indicated this was not one of the odd things he'd been investigating. This turn of events was new and shiny and ready to be discovered.

"Well, if it don't beat me," Oghren said casually, hefting his battle axe higher. "A talking Darkspawn!"

"Yeah, wonderful," Alistair agreed under his breath. "Darkspawn that talks back." _Just what we need…_

"Capture the Grey Wardens," the talking Darkspawn commanded. "Kill the others…"

Alistair sighed. "Communication is really overrated these days isn't it?" Guessing correctly the creature might be a magic user, he concentrated, draining it of every last iota of magic; at the same time as both Jowan and Anders sent a freezing spell over it. It proved surprisingly immune, breaking through the ice in a matter of seconds. A second later, Leliana sent an arrow through one of its eyes. It staggered backwards, while he, Cullen and Oghren charged.

He could feel Cullen brush past, heading for the Alpha Hurlock, behind, knocking it to the ground while Oghren smashed his battle axe into its head. Alistair found himself spinning sideways onto the stone – the talking Darkspawn still had magic! He concentrated, draining it of mana again as he leapt back towards it, longsword raised as Kristoff ran beside him. The two Grey Wardens swung at the same time, slicing downwards on either side of its permanently grinning face, dividing its torso into three neat segments.

The talking Darkspawn appeared to stagger a couple of steps, then fell backwards, dead.

-oo-


	14. Family

-oo-

**Chapter 14 - Family**

The room was…well it was…nice. It even had a window and a balcony, unusual in these Ferelden stone fortresses. The bed was large and opulent; thick velvet drapes in deep red hung from the high canopy. There was a large round table in a corner with matching chairs, though they looked sturdy, rather than ornate, which was a relief. The claw-footed, gilt sofa-rey thing (Leliana called it a 'kissing chair') standing by the fireplace more than made up for the table's austerity. Fur rugs were scattered liberally on the stone floors for comfort as well as warmth – not that they would have been needed. The fireplace would have accommodated an entire roasting Bronto…and lit; would have warmed up the entire Keep.

An adjoining room held a discreet privy and a stone bath – something he'd been meaning to use, but had not gotten around to it. He felt deeply uncomfortable in such surroundings, in his overworn armour and sweat-soaked underthings. He'd forgotten when he'd last removed his armour and because it had been a while, he was loath to, as the armour was probably keeping the smell _in…_

Alistair threw his bedroll onto the floor. The room reminded him a little of the one he had stayed in at Cousland House in Denerim…the last night he'd spent with…_Merran._ There. He'd thought it, even if saying her name was still too difficult, even after all these months. He had begun to loosen the straps on his armour, wondering where the kitchens were and how he was going to haul some hot water up here, when a knock sounded on the door.

Leaving undressing for the moment, Alistair answered the knock. It was a young Corporal; a blonde haired, wide-eyed young thing who blushed every time he talked to her.

"Um, Warden Commander," she addressed him, her ears turning a delightful shade of pink. "You wanted me to let you know when the others arrived."

_Others_…? _What day was it again? _"Oh, yes. Sure. Thanks…?"

"Maberlies, Warden Commander," she reminded him, turning scarlet. "I put them in your office, if that's all right with you, Ser."

Alistair stared at her. _I have an office?_ _Good grief, how big is this place?_ Recovering from his shock, he gestured her to precede him, managing a Commanderly, "Lead on, Corporal."

As he followed Corporal Maberlies, he took mental notes, counting the steps to the staircase and then the next staircase. Right, left, right, right…Picture of bat-winged lady. Ugly vase…Another picture of bat-lady – _hm…wonder if she's a Howe? _A long corridor at the end of another set of stairs…_I'm never going to remember all this…_he thought, confused. He almost collided with Maberlies when she stopped abruptly in front of a wooden door. It looked like every other wooden door they'd gone past, hardly an effective location marker. Maybe he could get Maberlies to pick him up every day…?

The young Corporal opened the door for him, a half second before he reached for the door handle. Their hands collided and she blushed even more furiously than before. Alistair sighed inwardly. Perhaps the picking up idea was a bad one…

Inside was the Dwarven woman they'd met at the Crown and Lion - Felsi. She scowled up at him, but Alistair wasn't so brain-addled and tired he wasn't able to pick up the uncertainty and trepidation under the combative mask she wore. He hadn't had a chance to speak to Oghren yet, but by Andraste's blood, when he did, he was going to nail the Dwarf's behind to the Keep's wall for the crows to laugh and pick at…

He extended his hand, hoping his appearance wasn't too disreputable. He'd fought his last battle in the rain and most of the gore had washed off, but he was keenly aware of layers of dirt that had been trapped under the armour, awaiting removal. He would probably need to scrape his underpadding off with a knife when he did…

"Felsi," he greeted her, "Thank you for agreeing to come here."

She shrugged at him, folding her arms across her chest, hands cupping her elbows in a defensive stance. She looked tired up close; dark rings shadowing her eyes. Despite that she was a very pretty girl – how in the _Maker's name _had someone like Oghren won her over?

"Thank you for inviting me, Warden Commander," she said curtly. "Though I don't know what you think you're going to accomplish here."

Alistair spread his arms wide. He'd been about to respond when a small movement at the corner of her long skirt caught his eye. Two tiny hands gripped the material and as he watched, a head of strawberry blond hair above a set of cornflower blue eyes peeked out at him.

His lungs contracted convulsively, knocking the air out of him, as though he'd been struck in the chest with a heavy mace. He dropped to his knees, causing the child to retreat behind her mother's skirt. Extending his hand, he forced himself to speak; and to smile.

"And…" The word emerged strangled and indistinct. He cleared his throat. "…who do we have here?"

Felsi took a step sideways. Placing a hand at the child's back, she gave her a gentle push, keeping her hand on the little girl's shoulder for comfort. "This is Roslina," Felsi said as the girl looked up to her for reassurance.

"Roslina…" Alistair repeated, slightly breathless.

"We also call her Rose," Felsi added, as an afterthought. "Sometimes it's just easier to say."

Emboldened by her mother's quick, reassuring smile, the little girl stepped forward. She reached out to touch the Griffon on his chest plate, snatching her hand back almost immediately. "You like this?" Alistair asked. "This is a Griffon," he explained, feeling like shouting and dancing. Hardly appropriate behaviour for the Warden Commander, especially in the presence of Oghren's wife – he was trying to make a good impression here…

Instead he told her, "The Grey Wardens used to ride them into battle. Would you like to hear the story some time?"

Rose rewarded him with a sunny smile and a quick nod, hugging her mother's leg but looking at him from under long curling lashes coyly as though she might even _like_ him or something. It was good to know – because she was the little girl from his dream. In flesh and blood she was smaller and more adorable and he had to restrain himself from hugging her or throwing her into the air and laughing like an idiot.

_Silly, I _am_ back…_Her words came back to him. Staring at Rose, a thought began to grow in his mind: the dream hadn't been a dream after all. Perhaps it had been a glimpse into his future…their future…and like her message in his dream…she _was_ back. The more he thought about it – while negotiating with Felsi, outlining his plan to her, watching little Rose playing around her mother's feet - he became more convinced. He didn't know where, or how, or why. He just knew it. In the marrow of his bones, he knew she was alive.

And close.

-oo-

Their trip was always going to be a long one. With an elderly Mage – and now a small child – in tow, progress to Vigil's Keep was slow. They needed to stop frequently and break earlier to make camp; the single tent they'd brought with them a little crowded now with the addition of Brogan. Merran had offered to sleep by the fire, but Brogan had taken to her like a sucker fish to a whale and she had given up, after finding him shivering in her bedroll after the first night. And as he found the younger Mage less threatening than the stern-faced Wynne he followed Merran everywhere. Marduk wondered whether Merran might even bear a resemblance to the lad's mother. They both had the same deep brown eyes – though Brogan's hair was such a light blonde it was almost white. It was most unusual for a Dwarf and got him thinking…

He'd heard of Human-Dwarf pairings happening before, though he'd never seen children from that kind of union, only that they were 'half-Human'…the mind boggled. Apart from the height difference, Marduk couldn't really see the difference – in outward appearance anyway. If Merran had been a head or so shorter, she could have passed for a Dwarf herself. A very pretty, slender one…Very pretty…Beautiful, actually…

As Marduk built up the fire, he watched Merran and Brogan opposite him surreptitiously; she was peeling some kind of root vegetable for their evening meal. Brogan wasn't a chatty child; it had taken quite an effort just to get him to tell them his name – and then only after Merran had sat beside him with her arm around him – and he'd stopped crying. Marduk couldn't blame the kid. From where he had been hiding, he would have seen his parents being killed or taken by the Darkspawn. And he was a surfacer child too, so he might not have grown up with bedtime stories of the dark creatures that inhabited the Deep Roads and lost Thaigs. He and Merran looked so darned adorable together, he couldn't stop grinning to himself.

In the shade of the golem, the elder Mage sat, reading a book, now and again frowning at a passage, or shaking her head. Neither of the Mages had discussed Vigils Keep since their last broken conversation and the closer they travelled to the Keep the more disquiet he felt. In all probability they'd meet up with this Alistair person and he would lose Merran forever. Not that he had her enthralled now, exactly. She treated him with affection certainly, but it wasn't the kind of affection he'd been hoping for.

He sighed, feeling despondent. What was it going to take to make her see him as more than a brotherly companion? Slay a dragon? Turn suddenly into a prince? He was going to be a Grey Warden, of that he was determined. If he could fight beside her as a Warden, maybe…She looked up suddenly, the colour draining from her face. Then she stood; the carefully peeled tubers, board and knife falling unheeded to the ground. At her side, Brogan clutched at her leg, whimpering in fear.

"Warden?" Marduk asked.

"Wynne!" she shouted – causing the Mage to look up inquiringly. "Darkspawn!" she screamed.

Marduk rolled towards his pack, scooping up his battle axe; Wynne and Merran casting protective spells around Brogan and themselves just as a chorus of shrieks rent the air. Marduk had only come across Shrieks a couple of times before in one of the old Thaigs – and he wasn't keen on repeating the experiences. The sound the Shrieks made crawled under your skin; made your ears hurt. It felt as if they were trying to squeeze inside your head. He swung his axe, feeling the edge of the double-blade thud into flesh and striking bone. He pulled the axe free, stepping over the body of the first Shriek, trying to lure the others away from the Mages.

The golem was singing – singing! - as she picked up a couple of Shrieks and smacked them together, then tossed both over her shoulder like a couple of ragdolls, moving on to a Hurlock archer.

There was a scream behind him. Marduk turned just in time to see Merran overwhelmed – a couple of Genlocks had appeared behind them and were dragging her away; Brogan rooted to the spot in terror, wailing like a Shriek himself. Marduk started to run as they headed underground. _Too late…too late…! _His head told him. He threw his axe across the ground uselessly, hearing thunder as Shale pounded towards the fast disappearing Mage.

A couple of arrows thudded – one each – into the Genlocks, stopping them literally dead in their tracks. Merran scrabbled to her feet towards Brogan as another Shriek intercepted her. Without his axe, all Marduk had were a couple of short bladed knives to fight at close range but again, another arrow pierced the Shriek's chest, another driving into the hollow space of its 'eyes' before he could reach her. A dark shape shot past him; metal flashed and the last of the Darkspawn lay dead.

Marduk stared at the tall, hooded figure as Merran approached it, exclaiming "Oh, you're hurt…!" just before Wynne set the corpses nearest to her ablaze. Automatically, Shale began clearing away the others. Marduk was surprised to see they had fought so many. And if it hadn't been for this hooded stranger, he conceded, they wouldn't not have done so well.

By the time Shale had cleared away the bodies and they were burning to cinders under Wynne's fire spells, Merran had the stranger sitting on a log. He had his hood thrown off – Marduk had never seen such a cold face before. The man's skin was pale underneath his stubble – or perhaps it was the colour of his hair that made him look so milk-white. It was a deep black, like raw tar, worn long with two slender braids clipped neatly to the back of his head. The man's nose was his most prominent feature; large and hooked, like a bird of prey - but it was his eyes that chilled Marduk the most; they were a pure, ice blue; impassive, watchful and mocking.

As Merran tended to the deep gash on the man's shoulder, Brogan plucked at her shirt, still sobbing. Even while she healed the stranger, she still found the time to draw the boy close to her, the man watching Mage and Dwarf child interact with a scornful curl of his lip. Incensed, Marduk took up his fallen war axe and advanced on the trio, when he found a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Let her finish, lad," Wynne instructed softly. "And then we'll see whether this stranger will talk to us."

Marduk tossed the war axe in his hands, but did as he was told. A moment later, Merran finished, wrapping both arms about Brogan and lifting him off his feet in a comforting hug.

"You've been a brave boy, Brogan," she told him, wiping the tears off the boy's face with her thumb. "We're very proud of you."

The stranger scoffed. "It would have been better to have left the child at home," he said. "What fool travels in Darkspawn-infested country with nothing more than…" His cold eyes travelled to Marduk. "A toothpick-wielding Dwarf?"

"Oh, and what am I, pray?" Shale piped up from the shadows. The ground rumbled as she approached, but the stranger was in no way disconcerted by what appeared to be _moving scenery._ "Just another rolling stone, gathering no moss?"

"We travel because we have to," Merran said quickly, stepping in between herself and Marduk – who slid out from behind her, to continue glaring at the man. "We…" she indicated herself, Wynne, 'the rolling stone' and the toothpick wielder with a wave of her hand, "are lately from the Deep Roads. And this child we found in amongst the…" She paused to clap her hands around Brogan's ears. "we found amongst the remains of a merchant's caravan. They had been attacked by Darkspawn. No others survived except this one."

The man's eyes narrowed in disbelief and suspicion. "I am no idiot," he stated. "The Deep Roads are on the other side of Ferelden."

"The Deep Roads and the domain of the Dwarves of Orzammar spread a great deal further than just the other side of Ferelden!" Marduk argued vehemently. "Which just goes to show how much you _don't _know, you nug-burping, steaming pile of bronto poo…"

"Marduk…" Merran rolled her eyes at him. "Whether or not you agree, this gentleman has just aided us greatly." She turned back to the man. "And I thank you, Ser."

"We are heading to Vigil's Keep," Wynne told him, watching the man carefully, as though assessing him. "We would appreciate it if an individual of your skills could accompany us."

The man gave a derisive snort. "And what would be in it for me?" he asked.

Merran shrugged, unperturbed by his mercenary question. "Absolutely nothing," she told him simply. "Unless you want company." Cocking her head to the side, she added, "You're quite welcome to go on your way. None of us here have either the power or the inclination to stop you."

_And some of us might even speed you on your way, with the careful application of an axe between your shoulder blades…_Marduk fumed silently.

The tall stranger appeared to mull the idea in his head carefully. Observing the young Mage in front of him dispassionately, he gave one last derisive glare to the beardless Dwarf with the restless war axe.

"Count yourself lucky then, travellers," the stranger informed them coolly. "By coincidence I too journey to Vigils Keep."

"Coincidence? I'll say!" Merran expelled a breath of relieved air. She performed a quick introduction of herself and her companions. "And who would you be?" she asked him last. "What is your name? We can't very well call you 'mysterious stranger' forever."

The smile he granted her was a mere twitch of his lips; humourless and bored.

"Nathan," he said – a tad too hastily for Marduk's peace of mind. "You may call me Nathan."


	15. Dragon

-oo-

**Chapter 15 - Dragon**

_Urgh…I miss not being able to blow stuff up…_Sigh…It used to be so easy; second nature to her – or was she overstating things? She had learned at a very young age to control her magic, this was true; to develop it for the good of Fereldan-kind. She had spent years studying, being rapped over the knuckles for having an incorrect stance; for waving her hands around too much, for sneezing during a spell. The fact that she had used her magic to enchant bits of paper to send notes to Jowan, or toast midnight snacks in the dormitories now seemed like a waste of her gift…except that those had been the best midnight snacks she'd ever had.

_Ugh…I haven't had any cheese since I got here…I think I'm going into lactose withdrawal…_Would Vigils Keep have cheese? They better had. Or else she was going to turn around and go marching off to the nearest dairy farm and demand a wheel of their best cheddar at staff-point.

On the other hand, if Alistair was there, then it would be cheese paradise, even if he preferred those fancy, _gourmet _cheeses with funny names and even funnier smells. The last cheese she remembered him trying was orange_._ _Orange…!_ What kind of a weird, self-respecting Cheese maker would make orange cheese?

_I wonder if Spirit Healers can make cheese with magic…?_

Her talent in area of healing had been fairly casual, though not for lack of trying. After she had tried to remove a rather large boil from Jowan's nose, she had kind of left it to the experts…He had a better nose post-boil anyway.

It did seem odd now when she thought about it. Whenever a Mage would tell her that 'her talents lay elsewhere', she would try harder until that branch of magic was no longer out of her talent pool. She didn't know why, but that had never happened with Healing. What she came to know; how to heal simple cuts, bruises, the odd fractured skull…it had seemed good enough.

And now here she was; with absolutely no idea how to chill a cup of water, light a fire or electrocute a random Templar. It was either because every lesson she ever attended in Primal and Entropy magic had leached out of her head or else she had burned out her abilities in those areas.

Sigh..._Cheese will probably make me feel better…Or darn it…baking a great, big, steaming tray of plum pies…_

"Urgh! Plum pies…!"

A shadow fell over her. Merran looked up into twinkling hazel eyes. "Lady Wynne sent me over to ask you to – now let me get this right…" His lips moved as he tried to remember the message word for word. "She said 'tell Merran to stop feeling sorry for herself and get off her Maker-cursed arse so we can all get going again'." Marduk nodded, pleased with himself. "I wouldn't have thought someone as proper as Lady Wynne would even say 'arse'. It's been quite a learning experience, for me."

Merran sat up, "I'm surprised she didn't come over here to tell me herself."

"I think she just wanted to give me something to do," Marduk grinned unapologetically at her. "Apparently it'll be a change from my 'baiting Nathan'." He appeared to be mulling a thought over in his mind. Looking at the older Mage across the camp, he added, "I wonder if she's developing a thing for our tall dark stranger."

Merran made an 'O' shape with her mouth and moved in close, whispering conspiratorially; "Oh yeah! Bad boys! You'd really think not her type, but you know in the Circle Tower she had _quite _the reputation. A real wild child."

"No!"

"Yes! There was this one story I heard where she and this Te…"

Another, larger shadow fell over the two of them. Shale's lava white eyes glowed at them, clearly annoyed at being used as a carrier pigeon. "The Elder Mage sent me to tell it that 'If it does not get up off its lazy bottom and back onto the road, it will know the true meaning of Mage Rage'. The Elder Mage also wished it to know that it can hear it all the way on the other side of this camp."

"Really?" Merran said, throwing a sheepish shrug Marduk's way. "Darn."

So much for asking Wynne to teach her how to use offensive spells again, then…Gathering her pack, Merran got to her feet. Another couple hours of walking and they would be at Vigils Keep…and Alistair. She supposed - half-nervous, half excited and a bit reluctant – she had better get this over and done with.

-oo-

Squeaky; that was how he would have described himself. Maker, it had been good to be clean again though it hadn't lasted. Two hours after they'd passed by the sign that said 'Welcome to Blackmarsh Village – Home of Peat!' they were dirty again; up to their proverbials in swamp and marsh and Maker knew what else. On the other hand, being splattered with Blight Wolf gore, immersed waist-high in slime and being forced to breathe marsh gas was a whole lot better than dealing with a roomful of Ferelden nobles.

Although he had to admit that as the marsh gas was probably of Oghren-origin, it didn't count.

The ceremony for the Amaranthine Banns to swear fealty to him had been…oh what was the word for it? Irritating? A chore? A bore? All of those things and more…And now it was causing him to make stupid rhymes in his head. He wished he'd listened more closely to the advice the Arl of Denerim had given him about dealing with nobles. On the other hand, the current Arl of Denerim was not only the son of a landholder and used to those sort of gatherings, but married to one of the canniest politicians in Ferelden. Alyssa Cousland-Gilmore could run merry circles around the likes of Arl Eamon and Bann Alfstanna and still not be puffed by the exertion.

The expression on Bann Esmerelle's face as she had attempted to speak to him had been a familiar one, sending him back to his monastery days. He'd gotten so tired of her half-allusions and double-entendres that he'd snapped, "Yes! I am a bastard! And an unrecognised one at that! And by the way, where were _you _when the Horde was running amok in Ferelden?"

It had earned him a lecture from the Seneschal, but Alistair hadn't cared. It had been half-hearted anyway. Varel had told him in confidence he thought Bann Esmerelle looked like a pickled lemon – but he had also told him she was one to watch. Varel had heard whispers of a conspiracy to remove him from the Arling. Hah! All they needed was to ask! It hadn't been as though he had volunteered for the job. As for the conspiracy – he had Leliana working on that one and unless Esmerelle employed an Orlesian Bard or an Antivan Crow herself, she had better watch herself. Less than two weeks in the job and he'd already lost all patience with it.

He was beginning to get some idea however, of how Rendon Howe had run the Arling, even if he had as yet to find Howe's secret stash of bribe money…

"So…" Alistair folded his arms, addressing anyone not too tired to listen. "Who's responsible for this part of Amaranthine anyway?"

Kristoff poked the wobbling carcass with the end of his greatsword. "I think we just killed her."

"I didn't see her eating canapés at the Swearing-in Ceremony", Oghren pointed out. "Not that I'd call it a 'Swearing-In Ceremony', considerin' it just turned out to be a Swearing Ceremony in general."

"Thanks for reminding me Oghren," Alistair sighed. "And remind me to raise Felsi's wages."

The offhand comment had its desired effect. The Dwarf's face turned as red as his hair as he muttered dark promises of dismemberment and choice epithets at his - it was official now - Warden Commander.

It was the only thing Alistair had enjoyed so far about coming to Vigils Keep – increasing the number of Wardens by two, though it would have been three, if they hadn't kept ejecting Cullen from the room. If it had been up to him, he would have taken the Mabari and rejected the other two, but…it was done, he supposed. Oghren and Anders had mastered the Taint and survived. Grey Wardens recruited the most unlikely people and now the total number of Wardens in Ferelden stood at a grand total of…four.

Five, a little voice in the back of his mind reminded him, counting Merran…

_Merran…_He had left his Rose back at the Keep. He hadn't expected to make an overnight stay in the Blackmarshes. On the other hand, he hadn't expected to meet a Flemeth clone in the Blackmarshes either. Maybe he could write to Flemeth, just to let her know there were other women around Ferelden muscling in on her territory. Surely even she could recognise that _one _horrendous abomination stealing the lives of innocents to extend their own life was enough for Ferelden. And to her credit – and to the best of his knowledge - Flemeth had not used the lives of an entire village to fuel an insatiable hunger for power.

She'd kind of _stretched _it out over an entire area and several centuries instead…

Throwing his shield over his shoulder, Alistair exited the forecourt of the decrepit old mansion. All he wanted to do now was return to the Keep for another bath and a long talk with his Rose.

"Well," Kristoff said, sheathing his sword beside him, "We may have solved the mystery of the Blackmarshes, but we are no closer to solving the riddle of the Darkspawn. Nor," he glanced at his Warden Commander out of the corner of his eye. "Uncovered the fate of the other Wardens."

"You think they're alive?" Anders tiptoed around a muddy puddle. Of them all, only he and Zevran managed to stay clean – Anders by avoiding dirt, Zevran because he had an uncanny ability to repel mess. "Chance would be a fine thing."

"Yeah well, this whole 'mother thing' makes my arse twitch," Oghren growled. "Did I tell you about the dream I had last night? It was about one of those bloated, vomit-smeared Broodmothers and it had _Hespith's_ face on it. Branka was there and she yelled 'It's time' and Hespith exploded, spewing forth a thousand Darkspawn."

"Wow," Anders muttered in an impressed voice. "You used the worth 'forth'. That's fancy-talk for an ale-soaked Dwarf, such as yourself."

"Well, I ain't finished," Oghren growled. "'Cos after that the Darkspawn all started dancin' around me, asking me whether I wanted lemon in my tea."

"Quite likely it's because you used the word 'forth'," Anders continued relentlessly. "They probably thought they were in genteel company. Well I hope for the Darkspawn's sake, they woke up from _that _nightmare…"

"Yeah well, this dream's stuff all new to me – and I don't drink tea, that was the worst of it. Couldn't they have offered me ale, or a barrel of single-malt?"

"It was a _nightmare,_ Oghren," Anders sighed. "It was supposed to be unpleasant."

"What?" Oghren exclaimed. "Nobody told me that! This is a Grey Warden thing, right? Is this going to happen a lot? Do I get compensation for mental wear and tear?"

"Yes," Alistair snapped right back at him, finding their conversation wearying. "And I agree – compensation for mental wear and tear is a good idea. I'll let Felsi know that'll be part of the agreement too when I see her next."

"Ah…yer…!" That set Oghren off on another curse-laden tirade. Alistair smiled grimly to himself. Felsi hadn't been happy about Oghren becoming a Grey Warden, but Alistair had been able to talk her around, once he explained that the stipend Wardens were entitled to would be paid to her, and not to Oghren. She was also given a job at the Keep – assisting Mistress Woolsey with the accounts. It was less dangerous than the tavern job in Amaranthine, allowed Felsi to spend all day with Rose and Vigils Keep had a hard-working, sharp-eyed auditor on its side.

Plus it made Oghren mad as fire. A win-win situation as far as Alistair was concerned.

Zevran announced his presence with a soft chuckle. "So what now, my intrepid, Witch-slaying Commander?"

Alistair looked up into the sky. He couldn't tell whether the sun was beginning to set or whether it was just having trouble penetrating the fog of the marshes. He sighed, reluctant to spend another night in this Maker-forsaken place. He didn't care what it would take out of them, they were going to go…home. Vigils Keep. A bath and his bedroll and…Cullen's urgent, frantic barking had him turning back. The Mabari came loping across a patch of dried weed as though an entire horde were at her heels. A second later there was a roar and a rather girlish scream that sounded like it might have come from Jowan. And _then _the dragon appeared.

Tired as they were, the group were caught off-balance. The dragon swept into the area, roaring and spitting blue flame. Alistair had only time to slide his shield down his arm and reach for his sword before the dragon snapped him up, tossed him into the air and swatted him sideways. The wind whistled in his ears briefly before he landed hard on a rocky outcropping, feeling his bones crunch under muscle. He tried to rise – sharp pain shot through his hip and back. None of his limbs would obey him and he started to feel…foggy. He had a brief glimpse of Cullen standing over him, whining in concern, before his vision first turned red and then…nothing.


	16. Disappearance

-oo

**Chapter 16 - Disappearance**

"Is that…_it_?" Marduk asked, shuffling his feet as he gazed up at the sprawling stone and wood structure. He glanced sideways at his companions. Surely they didn't think this was…impressive?

He'd grown up in Orzammar, surrounded by hand-carved statues bigger than most human houses, flying buttresses and vaulted ceilings that soared hundreds of metres high. As a Smith he'd apprenticed then worked in forges that stretched for miles underground with steam hissing around him and the constant boom of giant bellows fanning the massive forge fires. He had been to the Palace in the Diamond Quarter – _this_ place could fit three times in the throne room itself. And there was the Shaperate with its towering shelves filled with records and artefacts from the dawn of Dwarfdom.

"Yes," Wynne confirmed, glancing towards the other Mage to check she was still there. "Vigils Keep. Seat of the Arls of Amaranthine and now home to the Ferelden Grey Wardens."

"Well…" Marduk said as diplomatically as he could. Then as he couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't come across as derogatory he kept his mouth firmly shut.

The Keep was not what he expected. What he expected was something bigger; with more turrets, more spires and more towers. He was baffled by the fenced-off, grassy areas containing livestock; things that poked their great faces at him with buggy eyes and licking tongues. There was dirt and mud and manure and everywhere there seemed to be the smell of something musty and…damp. The Keep itself was in bad repair. Even his Smith's eye did not approve of the weak-looking stone the outer buildings had been constructed with. The Keep itself seemed sturdy enough but the walls were a fraction of the thickness they should have been and there was rubble everywhere.

As they passed through the village, Marduk became even more disappointed. He knew Vigils Keep was not a major city – that was Amaranthine, the port city to the east, but this place was where the _Arl_ lived. A person of importance, apparently. Where were their statues? Their monuments, their bridges? There were no fountains, no amphitheatres, no public archives…And everything was dull. No carvings, friezes, or sculptures – the single, crudely hewn figure in the cramped courtyard of the Keep did not count. The lack of decoration or anything architecturally interesting was quite frankly, a let down.

Wynne and Shale led the party through the village. There were people about – mostly soldiers and a few civilians – their golem seemed to be drawing quite a bit of attention - but Wynne appeared to be taking this in her stride. Chin held high, she swept unconcerned past the gawpers and starers as they pointed and whispered.

Towards the end of the village's main thoroughfare, Merran tugged on Marduk's arm.

"Nathan's gone," she hissed under her breath. "Have you seen him?"

Marduk looked around. He didn't know why except that it was an automatic reaction to such a question. In truth he hadn't even been paying attention to the man. He'd been about to voice his distrust of the sneaky human who referred to himself as 'Nathan', when he noticed the Dwarves. Real surfacer Dwarves…

_Well, of course, you idiot! _Brogan had been born on the surface most likely, but then Brogan was just a kid. These were – well, they didn't look any different from Orzammar Dwarves actually.

He sighed, disappointed again.

"Maybe he'll be back…?" she said, looking slightly worried.

"Maybe," Marduk told her, adding silently, _well, bad smells always come back…_

She looked behind them one last time, scanning the busy village and canopied buildings before increasing her pace to catch up to the others. They passed under the Keep's portcullis, through the forecourt and up the stairs to the Keep's double doors. There they halted while the guard questioned them about their business, eyeing Shale with ill-concealed curiosity – and then Merran with surprise – when Wynne told the guard she was a Grey Warden. Merran hadn't been listening to the exchange. She was looking around, frowning at the scorch marks and damaged walls.

"There's been a battle here recently," she noted.

"Uh…yes," the helmeted guard murmured, turning away. He held up his hand, indicating they stay until a message could be sent to the Keep's Seneschal. Twenty minutes later, a silver haired gentleman came to meet them. He was tall and elegant, with a gruff voice that reminded Merran of the Redcliffe Mayor, Murdock. She wondered whether he had survived the Blight…Or everyone she had come to know – Bann Teagan, the Couslands…She had never asked because she had been afraid of the answer and then she had been so taken up with just trying to complete her next task – escape the Thaig, stop being lost, find a way to the surface...she'd hadn't had the opportunity.

So absorbed was she in her thoughts, Merran did not realise the Seneschal had been addressing her until Marduk poked her in the back with a sharp finger.

"Oh, huh?"

The Seneschal was regarding her with an appraising look that was equal parts scepticism and fascination.

"You fought with the Warden Commander?" he asked, shrewd eyes assessing her.

Merran merely nodded. Trying to explain _that_ while standing outside with too many ears listening in, was not something she wanted to do.

"I was given to understand," Seneschal Varel continued smoothly, "that the…_other _Warden perished in the battle with the Archdemon."

This time she grimaced. "Yeah…" she told him. "Long story."

"I like long stories," Varel told her. "However, perhaps this is not the time and place." He turned to Wynne. "But you are most welcome." His grey eyes were still wary, gauging the potential danger these newcomers might pose to the new Arl. An elderly Mage, a golem and three children; one who claimed to be a Grey Warden…While this group of people did not look like mercenaries or assassins, he could take no chances. And when the older Mage asked about the Warden Commander's whereabouts, his level of suspicion rose.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Varel informed them briskly, "I'm afraid the Warden Commander is not here at present, being on patrol. We are not expecting them to return for some time."

"Oh, thank goodness!" the younger Mage exclaimed, clapping hands to either side of her head in relief. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that!"

Taken aback by this statement, Varel paused, frowning. "Why would that…?" Someone on the other side of the forecourt screeched suddenly. Varel turned, surprised by the sudden cry. It was the red haired Orlesian – the one that the Commander had sent to Amaranthine for some discreet enquiries. He hadn't realised she had returned.

Merran stepped out from where she had been partially concealed by the Seneschal. Leliana stood across the space, hands covering her mouth in obvious astonishment. She began walking forward; slowly at first, increasing her pace until she was running towards them. She stopped abruptly, shaking her head as though denying what her eyes told her. One corner of Merran's mouth crooked upwards as the red head stared down at her with incredulous eyes.

"Hey Leli," Merran said softly. "I like what you've done with your hair."

With another ear-piercing screech, Leliana threw her arms around the smaller woman, picking her up and hugging her like a favourite doll, sobbing incoherently, "Mer-Mer! Mer-Mer!" The young mage was returned to the ground. "Oh you look the same as the last time I saw you – except dirtier!" Leliana exclaimed as she stroked the young Mage's hair and face, convulsively hugging her after every sentence. "And you're back…How are you back?" she accused Merran. "And you didn't bother telling us? You didn't think to write? Just a quick note or a message? What have you been doing all this time? Oh you have so much to tell me! And you must tell me now! I demand it!"

"Leliana…" Merran began, unable to find the words. In desperation she turned to Wynne, who considerately stepped in.

"This discussion will have to wait for a bit longer, I'm afraid," she told Leliana sternly. "We've been travelling a long time and I for one would love a bath and a hot cup of tea – and not necessarily in that order."

"Oh yes…yes…" Leliana hugged Merran again, kissing the top of her head and squealing like a nug. Pressed up against Leliana's bosom, she caught Marduk's eye and rolled hers. "I'll take them upstairs Varel," Leliana told the Seneschal, turning back to Merran, "Once you have been refreshed, you _must _tell me everything!"

-oo-

"Is he dead?"

"Oghren…I'm trying to concentrate."

"He looks dead."

"Will you…?"

"If he's dead, I want first dibs on his room."

"Of all the…!"

"Have you seen the fireplace? Damn near fit an entire Bronto in it, I'll wager,"

"Will you shut up…! He's not dead!"

"He looks dead to me."

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint you, but he's not."

"'Cos if he is – barbecue at my place."

"Look, he's not dead okay?"

"You sure?" Oghren asked. "I know what dead people look like – and that's it. Looks like the Commander."

"He is _not _dead, Oghren…" There was an uncomfortable pause. "He's just…mostly dead…"

Alistair let himself drift back out of consciousness, the arguing voices dwindling to nothing. When he awoke again, it was dark. He heard the crackle of a fire and a stentorian snore that sounded like a herd of cattle stampeding. He tried turning his head, finding he could not.

"Ah…our fearless Commander awakens…" Zevran's face appeared above his own. "If you are wondering, yes; we have tied you up - something I have been wanting to do for an _age_. Unfortunately I have been given strict instructions not to move you." He sighed regretfully, hand over his heart. "It is a pity to waste such an opportunity, but…oh well." With a toss of his neatly coiffed head, he indicated the other side of the blazing campfire. "The Mage," he said dryly, "the rather jocular one; has had to re-knit the bones in your spine I am to understand. A most difficult task as he keeps reminding us."

"Blast…" Alistair whispered, not really caring whether his head had needed re-attachment to his body. It meant they were still in the swamps. "The others?" he asked, fearful of the answer.

"Ah well…Jowan was badly burned, but he lives...The other Grey Warden also survived and is currently resting. I must admit, I missed our sarcastic golem. I could have happily traded all the gold in Antiva for her resistance to dragon fire."

"_Zevran_…" Alistair squeezed his eyes shut, noticing the ex-assassin had left out _one _particular member of their party..."Where is…?"

There was a worried whine near his head. Something brushed his hair and a dollop of cold touched his ear. He breathed in sheer relief.

"Hey girl…" Alistair said softly. He tried to raise his hand, but his limbs would still not obey him and had to content himself with only talking to her. "She would have killed me if anything happened to you…"

"Who would?" Zevran asked in a puzzled tone of voice. "Leliana?"

Alistair smiled. "How soon until we can get out of here?" he asked.

"As soon as the Mage is happy enough to move you," Zevran told him, eyes narrowing. "Surely you do not wish to rush? Your nobles will probably be lying in wait."

When Alistair laughed, everything hurt – he supposed he should take that as a good sign. "They're not 'my' nobles, Zev and they won't be the only ones waiting."

"Hm?"

Alistair only smiled again. _Maybe, _he thought, _I'll just keep that to myself for a bit. _In all likelihood people were going to start thinking he had sustained more damage than broken his back. It was a pity mental stability wasn't a prerequisite for title-holding; otherwise he would cite insanity for his removal as Arl. As for Grey Wardening, he knew a person didn't have to be sane to be one.

In fact it probably helped to be a little loopy.

Ignoring Zevran's questioning expression; he closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep again.

-oo-

"Wow…Nice room…"

Marduk flinched as his unexpected appearance caused a loud, distressed squeal. He hadn't been expecting the squeal or the streak of pale skin and dark hair, hastily ducking behind a screen.

"Did you knock?" she asked. "I'm sure I didn't hear you knock."

Marduk crossed two fingers behind his back as he stared up at the ceiling. "Of course I knocked. What do you think I am; some kind of creepy Dwarven lecher?"

"Oh…" she said – he could see the shadow of her head nodding behind the screen. "That's okay then…"

Marduk shifted one of the chairs over, leaning against it while he watched her shadow behind the screen. There were interesting curves – lost when she threw her drying cloth over the top of the screen.

"So why are you here?" she asked.

"Oh, um." That's right. He was here for a reason. He'd just forgotten it… "The others have gone downstairs for dinner already," he told her. It was going to be something informal – and private - with the Seneschal.

She laughed behind the screen, making mysterious but intriguing, slithery fabric sounds. "Leliana likes to _talk_," she told him.

"She's a very enthusiastic woman," Marduk remarked, tilting his head – the better to see – as her arm snaked out, making grabbing motions until it connected with the clean shirt hanging over a nearby chair.

"You have _no _idea," Merran told him. "I thought she was going to kill me. I've never been so close to breasts that large before, and I don't wish to repeat the experience."

"Breasts…" Marduk repeated, blinking at her shadow.

"I thought she was going to smother me – My life flashed before my eyes. It was terrifying!" She giggled, offsetting her claim of terror. She stepped out from behind the screen, winding her hair up onto her head. Marduk sighed. He wished she'd keep it down. He loved the way it framed her face and swept across her shoulders when she talked. Dwarven women tended to keep their hair short – it saved on washing – but he found he rather liked long hair on women.

"Are you all right?" she asked him.

"Huh?"

"You went all glassy-eyed. I guess we're all a little tired, huh?"

"Yeah." He took a step closer. She hadn't noticed, being too busy with her belt. He'd reached out towards her, when a knock on the door sounded. It opened before she could answer, two chocolate brown eyes beneath a thatch of pale blond hair appearing around the edge of the door. Marduk threw his hands into the air, foiled again. _Is this some kind of conspiracy_ he asked himself?

Brogan showed no hesitation as he had, skipping up to Merran with a big smile on his face. Hugging her arm, he led her wordlessly towards the door.

"Are you coming Marduk?" she asked, pausing at the door.

"I'll be down in a bit," he told her. _I just need time to throw a bit of a tantrum first…_"Don't wait for me."

With a nod, she stepped through the door. He waited a minute before smacking his forehead and jumping up and down like a spoilt child, waving his fists in the air at the contrary will of his Ancestors. After a few minutes he straightened, took a deep breath and stepped outside. The cosy room the Seneschal had designated their dining area for the evening was easy to find, being located the next flight down. The red haired woman was there, dressed in a frilly gown of something green. Wynne was seated next to Varel, a goblet of wine in her hand.

The Mage looked up when he entered. "Oh Marduk," she said, "could you please go and ask Merran to come down? Dinner will go cold."

"Uh…" He looked uselessly about the room. "Merran should be here already. She left her room ten minutes ago."

"Really?" Wynne asked with a frown. "Surely she can't have gotten lost…"

"She had Brogan with her…Um…" He exchanged a look of accord with the red head as he began backing out of the room. Leliana stood up too.

"I think I'll…" He began thinking about Nathan for some reason. Merran wouldn't delay dinner…but she wouldn't run away either, not with Brogan in tow. She said she had been famished...

Trying not to sound too worried, he told them, "I think I'll go and look for her…"


	17. Howe What Why

-oo-

**Chapter 17 – Howe What Why**

He didn't need to carry her. Really. She had been quite willing to follow…wherever…She was also quite willing to talk – if he would slow down so the two of them could converse. Instead, she found herself clutched under his arm like an overgrown carpetbag as he made his way through the secret passageways and steps behind the Keep's walls. Eventually, he brought her to an old storeroom, empty except for a couple of broken crates and a cobwebbed rat skeleton in the corner.

Dumping her unceremoniously onto the dusty floor, he kicked the door shut, regarding her with a mixture of contempt and impatience.

Merran sat up, slapping the dust off her breeches, tut-tutting over the dust. She had been so pleased at being clean again. Sigh…She looked up at him as he curled his lip at her.

"So," she asked. "Who are you, really?"

"My name is Howe," he stated. "_You _killed my father…prepare to die…"

Merran blinked up at him in confusion. "Uh?" she said.

"My name is Howe…" he repeated.

"Yeah, yeah I got all that, but how what?"

"What?"

"No, you said 'how', not what? Oh, is _that _your name? Watt?"

"No, I never said my name was what!"

"Yes you did! Oh wait…No, oh now I can't remember. You've confused me. Can you say that again?"

"Howe?" Nathan said, feeling his head start to spin.

"Well, it's easy. You just open up your mouth, waggle your tongue and make the words come out. Simple really. Maybe you just need a bit of practice."

"What?"

"Oh and now we're back to that again. How, what, why? I thought I asked a perfectly perfect question. I would have thought it would be easy enough to remember – ooh!" She exclaimed suddenly. "I know! You have amnesia – you hit your head and now you can't remember your own name. Oh you poor thing!"

"I did _not _hit my head, but it is quite clear to me that you have hit yours…" he growled, incensed.

"Oh no. I'm sure I would have noticed if I did, thanks for asking."

"I wasn't asking how you were!" he bellowed in frustration.

"And now we're back to _that _again. Honestly," she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Can you really not answer a simple question? I only asked your name."

"_HOWE!_" he told her, clenching his fists in her face. "H…O…W…E" he spat each letter at her like a poisonous melon seed.

"Oh…Howee."

"It's not pronounced 'Howee'!"

"There's a silent 'e'? How quaint! Aw, I love it! Do you get asked about it all the time?"

It would be easier to strangle her. Easy to wrap his hands around her skinny neck and squeeze until her eyes bugged out of her head and she ceased to breathe, ceased staring at him…ceased _talking…_But Nathaniel had better control than that. He needed her alive for the moment. Once he had some answers, _then _he'd dispose of her.

Starting with cutting out her tongue – and laugh while he did it.

Shaking his head in disbelief he murmured. "I can't believe you're the one. I can't believe you're the one who killed my father. From the things I've heard, you should be eight feet tall with lightning shooting out of your eyes…"

"Oh…" Merran waved a hand at him dismissively. "I used to be able to do that," she made odd flickering motions with her hands at eye level. "But now I just, you know, cure common colds, remove the odd pusticle…that sort of thing. Lightning, fire, ice – forget it. But stub your little toe and I'm your Mage."

He stared at her. "You are mad, aren't you?"

"Oh no," she waved her hand at him again. "Not at all. Not even a little miffed. Maybe you have issues you need to work out – who am I to judge – or…should I say 'Howe' am I to judge?" Slapping her hand on her thigh she chuckled at her little joke.

Nathaniel regarded her with awe. "I've just changed my mind," he told her. "I am just going to kill you after all."

He drew a knife and lunged, just as the door opened. A tiny tow-haired Dwarf child stood in the doorway, eyes blazing; a vase in his hand. "I'll have you, longjohns!" he yelled, cannoning into him…and bouncing off harmlessly. Nathan went to step forward to seize the child, but found he couldn't move. The floor around his feet glowed brilliant white.

"Oh _yeah…_" the annoying Mage told him. She had gotten to her feet and was tapping her finger on her jaw. "I'm also _rather_ good at paralysis barriers – just another wonderful talent a Healer has in her arsenal." She wrinkled her nose at him. "Brilliant, huh?" She gave him a sidelong look that was amused…and terrifying. "Betcha didn't see _that _coming!" She looked down at the boy. "Brogan, do be a dear and run upstairs to fetch Wynne and the red haired lady. Do you think you can find your way back on your own?"

Brogan nodded. Before he left he waved the vase threateningly at Nathan. "You better watchit, ya stinking pile of poo!" the child squeaked at him.

_I've been bested by a pint-sized Mage and a small child…_Nathan thought dismally. _The gallows look mighty attractive right now…_

"Now…" Merran pulled up a broken crate and attempted to sit on it. She smiled up at him, her brown eyes glittering with a dangerous light. "So tell me: what's your _real _name?"

-oo-

Ouch. Ow. Ooh. Damn. Ooch. Ow. All right, he had to admit it – they should have stayed in the swamp until he was able to walk out of there himself. It would have taken days, maybe a week. He was quite happy to live on pond scum and toasted newt than to be jostled and jarred along the road to Vigils Keep. Anders told him his bones were fine, but he was in so much pain he wanted to curl up into a little ball and sob. Or ask Oghren for that flask of whatever he had in there again.

Except that Oghren wasn't speaking to him…payback for the little arrangement Alistair had set up with Mrs Oghren and Mini-Oghren.

It didn't help that the only ones who volunteered to carry his litter was Kristoff, Zevran and the vengeful Dwarf. No matter the combination of carriers, the height difference in the three men made carting him around worse – and Oghren was taking great delight in stumbling or making the odd skip. He wished he could get up off this stupid litter and walk himself - except that after the first time Alistair had risen to attempt to do bodily harm to the Dwarf, Anders had cast a glyph of paralysis over him, immobilising him and preventing him from doing nothing more than spend the interminably long trip home, thinking up ways of getting Oghren back. He was stuck until such time as Anders chose to release him or someone knocked the Mage out and the spell was broken.

Beside the jostling litter, Cullen limped, keeping up as best she could, her breath labouring through her jaws. Jowan was no better; blood-soaked and blistered, he seemed to be walking on pure instinct, a pall of misery and pain bowing his shoulders. He didn't speak to anyone – he had been the one to release the dragon – feeling as though he deserved his own injuries and regretting the party's hurts. But if he hadn't, the Marsh Queen – as she had styled herself – would have re-emerged. Like all good evildoers everywhere, she had stored a piece of herself in the dragon's skeleton; her little contingency plan. Alistair wished he'd been able to fight the dragon. He could have made his magic three in dragon-slaying.

He would have to be content with two, he supposed: the High Dragon in the Frostbacks and Flemeth.

He couldn't very well claim the Archdemon – that was solely Merran's prize.

The party had broken the journey by a single night's stay on the side of the highway, but with their current progress, they wouldn't reach the keep until after nightfall. All they needed now was an attack by bandits and their Blackmarsh-Amaranthine experience would be complete.

As though his thoughts had prodded the Maker's memory, an arrow whistled though the air, thudding into the ground between the litter and Cullen.

"Asschabs!" Oghren growled. "Bandits! Can't they see we're a little busy?"

Alistair felt a wash of magic flow over him. He tried to rise yet again, but the paralysis spell remained in place…stone armour then…Cullen lowered herself down beside him with a pain-laden whimper as Zevran and Oghren dropped the litter and reached for their weapons. As the bandits crowded around them, Cullen huddled closer, lips drawn back menacingly from barred teeth as swords clashed and bowstrings twanged.

The ground rumbled – bandits flew left and right as a welcome, stone-like figure joined the fray with glee, stamping her foot and growling as the bandits – finally realising what was attacking them, fled.

"Well…" Shale towered over Alistair as he lay on the ground, helpless. "Isn't it lucky I came looking for it? The Elder Mage was most concerned. Has it been squished?"

"No Shale," Alistair grinned up at the golem. "It just _feels _like it."

"Hm," Shale returned. "I am glad. Though it seems to me that if it were flat enough, it can be folded and posted back to Vigils Keep. It would certainly be faster."

-oo-

"And what do you intend to do with him?"

Merran was hungry – _really _hungry – but not so hungry that she missed the little spark of recognition between the two men. It was not surprising considering the Seneschal's history with the Howe family.

Obediently she gave Nathaniel Howe her attention. She didn't know what to do with him really. He _said _that he had come to Vigils Keep to kill his father's killer, but then had changed his mind and wanted to retrieve some precious family items, and then had changed his mind again and had decided to kill his father's murderer anyway simply because he found her annoying.

Merran chewed on her lower lip. This decision should really be up to the Warden Commander, but as the crime had been committed against her, Varel felt her judgement on the man would be more appropriate. Hang him? Could she give that order? She was a Mage; it was not for her to rule over the lives of men and women. When she approached the cell door, Nathaniel lunged at her like a wild animal, his hands curling menacingly around the bars of the door. The guard in attendance jabbed him with the scabbard of his sword, driving him backwards.

"Stop!" Merran commanded. Turning angrily to the guard, she admonished him. "Please don't do that again."

She raised her hand towards Nathaniel's head. "Perhaps it would be kinder if I simply made you forget…" she told him softly. She looked into his cold eyes and felt deeply, incredibly sorry for him. She remembered the day she and the Cousland party had come across Rendon Howe in the Denerim estate – presiding over a torture rack and a pile of bodies that had been transported specially from Highever. Among them had been Elf servants, Chantry Sisters, young soldiers barely out of their training. Alyssa Cousland had challenged Howe to a fair duel and he had lost. His life draining onto the cobbles of the torture rooms had seemed a small price to pay for the huge number of innocent lives he had destroyed with barely a twinge of guilt or remorse. One of them had been the Arlessa's nephew. He had been the same age as Brogan was now.

Howe had been in the Free Marches during the Blight. If he had been in Ferelden…

"Enough lives have been lost," Merran said finally, wearily. "Make him a Grey Warden if you can stand it, Varel," she suggested, causing the Seneschal to open his mouth to protest. "The Darkspawn have their own kind of vengeance," she said. "Survive Nathaniel, and you might have a chance at redeeming your family's name in your lifetime."

Nathaniel lunged at her again through the bars. "I would rather face the gallows!" he screamed at her. "Redeem my family's name?" he sneered. "It is you who has destroyed it!" He snatched at her arm, yanking it through the bars and twisting it across the metal. One flick of his wrists and he could snap her forearm in two.

The guardsman drew his sword, along with Varel, but Merran, gritting her teeth held up her hand for the two men to step back.

Tilting her head upwards, Merran met his gaze eye to eye, unflinching and determined.

"There are worse things than the gallows or being a Grey Warden, Howe," she told him.

"And what would they be?" he sneered at her.

There was the tiniest of pauses. The brave mask slipped from her face as a sheepish grin replaced it. "Huh. Sprung! Actually…can't think of any at the moment, so I'll think about that and um…get back to you…?"

Nathaniel released her arm, stepping backwards in disbelief. Whatever his father had allegedly done or not done, nothing was worth this oddball hell he'd found himself in. And yet, despite himself, he actually found himself intrigued. Maybe he could become a Grey Warden. Perhaps he could find out what had _really _happened to his father.

Failing that, he could always bide his time, until he could kill her at a later date…


	18. Old Friend

-oo-

**Chapter 18 – Old Friend**

She knew when New Home was near. There were certain smells that she associated with the place: animals and dust and lots of good things to roll in. She would not be rolling in anything for a while though. She hurt too much, but she had made a promise to Her Human. She would stay by Him, even though right now it was very, very difficult.

No one paid attention to the Mabari at the side of the Warden Commander. It was an accepted fact that wherever He went, she would follow, but part way through the Keep's forecourt, the Mabari halted, raising her muzzle to the air. She turned her head, sniffing intently.

_The nose never lies…_

No one noticed the Mabari leaving her master's side. The party continued up the Keep's steps, the healer in their party relaying instructions the entire way – or simply talking because he could – and were soon lost to sight, the fortress' tall wooden doors closing behind them with a dull thud.

Cullen limped to the wooden building on the far side of the courtyard, sniffing at the doorstep. She pawed at the door weakly; not having the strength to jump up for the handle and then lowered herself gingerly to the ground, closing her eyes.

She was prepared to wait.

Some time later she became aware of small, tentative steps towards her. She couldn't smell size, but she could smell jam and butter and grass and mud. There was something else as well…the smell she had remembered from before: hugs. Her Human's hugs…

A hand reached out and poked her ear. She peeled back one eyelid, regarding the small child calmly. He cocked his head at her, looking like one of her own children, reaching out again to touch the top of her head.

"Aw…puppy," he whispered. "You're hurt." He frowned at her. "How did you get hurt? Were people mean to you?"

Cullen whined pathetically in response. "Wait here, puppy," he told her in a decisive voice, pressing his hand onto her head in a gesture that told her she was to _stay_. "I'll go and get my Mummy. She'll fix you up."

At that moment the door to the building opened to a startled gasp.

"Oh! Brogan – my goodness, you startled me…_Makers breath!_"

Cullen lifted her head, almost at the end of her strength. _I've been good…_Cullen told her. _I looked after him, just like I promised…_

"Oh…you silly dog…!" Her Human fell to her knees and hugged her. "Oh, you silly, silly thing…" It was a nice hug. One she had missed, but had never forgotten. Her Human took all the pain away, made her feel strong again. Sighing, Cullen rested her head in Her Human's lap. _You were gone too long, _Cullen complained. _What took you so long?_

Her Human laughed. "You know me Cullen, _shocking _sense of direction. Couldn't find my own big toe at a Cobblers' Convention…Come on, Wonder Dog," Her Human patted her newly-repaired ears. "Let's get you inside."

-oo-

"What are you doing up, young man?" Wynne stood framed in the doorway, hands on hips.

He glanced sideways, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. "Wynne," he stated. "I thought you'd be half way to Tevinter by now."

"We ended up travelling to find Shale's Thaig – and don't change the subject," she warned. Bustling into the room, she rolled up her sleeves as though preparing herself for battle. "Return to bed young man, or so help me…"

"She's here, isn't she?"

Wynne stopped in her tracks, staring at the half-dressed Warden Commander. He'd been in the process of putting on his boots, wincing at having to bend more than fifteen degrees at the waist. _Still_…, she thought; casting her professional gaze over him. Considering his injuries, he was doing quite well. Now if only Jowan would respond to treatment as well as his Commander...

"Well?" Alistair prompted her.

"Hm…" Wynne folded her arms across her chest. She could understand both sides of the argument – Merran's reluctance to reveal herself versus Alistair wanting to meet with her – but Wynne would have preferred not to have been caught in the middle and let the two of them sort it out themselves. "Huh," she finally said. "And _how _do you know this?"

His gaze flicked briefly to a small wooden box on his side table. Next to it was a plate of currant cookies…She also noticed that he had shaved recently; his beard was neatly trimmed and the tops of his bandages were slightly damp, as though he had tried to wash himself. She did wish he would put on a shirt…Maker's breath, there was only so much a woman her age could take – and she could take quite a lot of it.

Alistair stood up. Facing her, he mirrored her stance. "I just _do,_" he said simply.

"The Chantry would teach us coming back from the dead can only happen in one way…" Wynne's forehead creased at him.

"Yes well," he said in a bored tone of voice. "The Chantry would also teach us that all Mages are evil and will be the death of us all, but all the ones I know keep saving my life." Rubbing his chin with the knuckle of his finger, he added, "Funny that."

Wynne sighed. "You do have a rather nasty habit of playing with death, my dear boy."

"It's a Grey Warden thing," he informed her humourlessly. "Part of the job description."

She made a very unladylike noise at him. Alistair allowed himself a small smile. Walking to the end of the bed, he grabbed shirt and tunic. Slipping both over his head, he told her, "I should go check on the others anyway." Making a purposeful detour towards her, he placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her an affectionate peck on the top of her snowy head.

"I'm glad you're here, Wynne. Sending Shale saved us. Thank you."

As he turned away, she grabbed his arm, "And what would you do," she asked him. "If you did happen to see her?"

Alistair thought this over carefully. After a while, he told her, "Probably give her a piece of my mind, actually." At her alarmed expression he added, "She broke my heart after all. She shouldn't be allowed to get away with that."

-oo-

Merran was late coming up to Varel's office. She paused outside the door, afraid to knock; raising her hand, then dropping it, then raising it again. Laughter came walking towards her, attached to a very shiny Marduk. He'd given his Legion armour a clean; the blade of his war axe slung to his back honed to precision sharpness. He'd left his helmet back in his room however; his still-damp caramel-blond hair slicked back neatly over his head.

"You look like one of my Pa's mechanical water pumps," Marduk chuckled. He raised his own hand to the door, giving three smart raps on the wood. He stepped inside at Varel's brief assent, turning the key to lock the door behind them once they were both through. She couldn't escape now.

That Nathan-person was already there, scowling at the furniture and looking as though he would rather be anywhere else but here. Marduk noticed the man had had his weaponry returned to him – a bad idea in his opinion – but the Seneschal did not seem to be concerned. He even had his back turned to the angry young man, busying himself at his desk. When he straightened, he was carrying a goblet in both hands.

Marduk obeyed the Seneschal's nod, taking his place beside Nathaniel, though he made a point of keeping a distance from the man.

Varel held the goblet before them. "When the world stood on the brink of annihilation," he spoke in his gruff voice. "Those who heeded the call mastered the Taint and thus the Grey Wardens were born." He looked towards Merran. "Do you wish to do the honours, Warden?"

Merran chewed on her bottom lip. No, she didn't actually. She'd rather run screaming from the room, but to do so, she would have to strip Marduk to find the key first. Two had died at her Joining. It had been sheer luck – or even perhaps because she already had the Taint in her – that she alone had survived. She didn't have anything against Nathaniel. She didn't want him to die. She had expected Varel to object more strenuously to Nathaniel becoming a Grey Warden, but he hadn't. He'd gone away and thought about it, then told her that he thought it was a good idea. As for Marduk…

"Come on Merran," Marduk gestured his arms towards her. "Whatever happens, happens. If both of us die today, well…it's just saving us from dying later with a Darkspawn sword through our heads, right?"

He was right. She knew he was right.

She knew Nathaniel didn't care. He would still rather face the hangman's rope. Marduk maintained the fatalistic philosophy of the Legion of the Dead. He couldn't die twice, so why get upset about it? Apathy and equanimity aside, Merran knew Ferelden _needed _more Grey Wardens.

Positioning herself next to Varel, she began to say the words Alistair had recited at her own Joining. She had only ever heard them once, but they had been branded into her brain by his voice. Locking her gaze with Marduk's she took a deep breath and clasped her hands.

"Join us brothers," she began. "Join us in the shadows, where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you…" She gripped her hands more tightly together. "Should you perish, know that you will not be forgotten…and that one day…we shall join you..." _The Maker help us all…_

Varel passed the goblet first to Nathaniel. "Nathaniel," Varel intoned gravely. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden." As Howe drank, Merran squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch. She only opened them again, when there was a loud thud. Nathan lay crumpled in a messy heap on the floor, Varel bending over him.

"He lives," Varel informed her, sounding relieved. He straightened and took the goblet from the desk, handing it to Marduk.

"Marduk," Varel recited, rolling the 'r' in the Dwarf's name. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."

"Right," Marduk said, taking the goblet from the Seneshal's hands. "Ancestors look kindly on me…" He took a sip; his face screwing up at the taste and returned the cup to Varel. At first nothing happened and then his face turned pale and mottled purple. He began to choke, coughing and spluttering. His hands began tearing at his hair, his eyes rolling back into their sockets as he doubled-over before he too crumpled to the floor. Merran reached him first, tentatively reaching out but snatching her hand back fearfully. Varel knelt down beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry," he began – when Marduk grunted loudly, rolled over and began to snore. Merran dropped to her hands in relief.

He had survived the Joining…He had survived…Now all she had to worry about was him being killed horribly by Darkspawn…_Maker, _she thought, feeling jumpy._ I really need to bake a cake or something…_

-oo-

Jowan had looked…_terrible…_Actually, Alistair couldn't decide which of the two men had looked worse; Jowan or Anders: Jowan with his swathes of blistered, raw-looking skin and pain-dulled eyes; or an unshaven Anders in his rumpled, stained robes with his normally neat ponytail askew.

The two men had been arguing when Alistair arrived. Jowan was still resisting Anders' assistance and Alistair had had to step in to separate them briefly. When the lightning and ice spells had started shooting across the room, draining them both of mana had been a golden moment – Anders' expression alone had been worth the slightly sizzled shoulder and a touch of frostbite on one ear. Without magic the two of them had resumed their trade of unpleasant words. His patience had lasted only so long and he quit the room. If the two of them tore each other apart, then maybe he could gather up the bits left over and make one, good Mage that didn't argue back.

"Oi! Commander!"

Oghren set down the barrel he'd been carrying and wiped the back of his hand across his sweating forehead. Alistair regarded him through narrowed eyes. _Where did Oghren find a barrel of ale? _Should he even ask…?

"Care to join me and the Elf for a bit of a snog with a tankard?" Oghren asked. Leaning forward conspiratorially he added, "I hear there's a _hot _new cook downstairs. Thought I'd introduce myself."

"And show her your good side?" Alistair indicated the ale barrel. "I'd like to remind you that you are a married man."

Oghren curled his lip at him. "What does that have to do with the price of eggs? Are you aiming to snitch on me?"

"_Yes,_" Alistair stated the obvious. Suspicious, he sniffed the air above the Dwarf's head. From the height of the alcoholic miasma around Oghren, Alistair determined the Dwarf was already three-quarters sozzled. Another six pints and he'd be viewing the underside of a table. It was almost embarrassing how well Alistair knew the Dwarf…

"Anyways…" Oghren hefted the barrel onto his shoulder. "Can't stay to chat. Got some important business to attend to…"

Alistair followed the staggering Dwarf at a distance, shaking his head in wonder. How Oghren had managed to live this long was a mystery. Most humans would have embalmed themselves on the amount that Oghren had drunk – and that was only in the time he'd known him. When the Dwarf halted at the entry to the kitchen, Alistair stopped too, expecting Oghren to topple backwards like a fallen tree. If anything, he could catch the ale barrel, just in case it broke. He'd hate to waste a barrel of good ale…

But then he noticed Zevran in the doorway too, standing slightly to the side. He could hear voices beyond – the high-pitched sound of children's voices and running feet.

"Bless my britches…" Oghren said, standing so rigidly he looked like a miniature hairy lamp post. Curiosity overriding his annoyance at the Dwarf, he stepped forward, peering over Oghren's head.

Alistair's breath hissed through his teeth. Half of the kitchen was a mess. Two floury children and what looked like an Elf occupied the cook's preparation area. He recognised Rose, jumping up and down on the bench in excitement. Raw pastry, flour and broken eggs were strewn across every available surface, while the other child and Elf chased each other around the table. Except that she wasn't an Elf at all.

_Odd_, he thought…Apart from the liberal coating of baking ingredients, she looked as she had that first day at Ostagar, when the two of them had disliked each other on sight and the fear of impending amphibianhood or death by embarrassment was never far away…Dressed in a dun-coloured shirt two sizes too big and a pair of dark breeches with her hair in a long braid swinging about her shoulders, she looked as mage-like and dangerous as a Deepstalker in drag…

_Merran…_He fell in love with her all over again.


	19. Alistair Who?

**-oo-**

**Chapter 19 – Alistair Who?**

It was always going to end badly. She'd rounded the corner a little too fast, her foot just a little too wide when she hit the patch of flour. The three of them had a glimpse of her flapping her arms feebly like a baby bird as she skidded across the slippery stone. Then gravity made a grab for her and she tilted backwards; her feet flying one way and the rest of her the other. The three of them winced in sympathy when she landed hard on the stone.

As she lay on the ground, one foot hooked up onto the bench, the little boy appeared above her, leaning over the table, a pie in his hand. He took a deliberate, showy bite out of it, smacking his lips in exaggerated enjoyment. She lunged at him, sending him giggling to the other side of the table, where he sat, finishing up the last of his mince pie.

"Urgh! Brat!"

Thumb touching his nose, he waggled his fingers at her.

"_Oww_…" she whimpered at him. "I think I broke my _buttock…both_ of them…" She rose gingerly, using first the long bench and then the table to lever herself upright.

Surveying the piles of mess, she sighed, "Bronwyn is going to kill us when she sees this…"

"Sees what?" a sharp voice asked behind her.

Merran turned around slowly. She could already imagine the Cook's expression. It would be thunderous. She would be standing with her hands on her ample hips, and tapping her feet…The Keep's cook came into view and indeed, Bronwyn did have her fists jammed disapprovingly on her hips. The foot was also tapping expectantly and the usually merry blue eyes lost their twinkle as they swept across the previously-immaculate table tops and floors…

"I…" Merran began apologetically. "I can explain…You see, we…uh…" her voice trailed away when her eyes caught sight of the kitchen's other occupants. At first she could only stare until realisation bloomed. Her mouth formed a small 'o' and she gave a small shake of her head. Chuckling to herself, she began walking towards them.

Alistair grinned like a madman. He took a step forward as she started to run, holding his arms out wide…

"Oh…_Oghren! Zev!"_ she squealed.

_Uh…_Alistair stood still as she'd shot past him, arms held up in the air like one of the many statues of the Prophet Andraste…She tried hugging both Dwarf and Elf together, bouncing up and down like a jack-in-the-box and smearing both men with flour and gummy egg.

_She just shot past me…_He thought, bewildered. _How can she just go straight to the Dwarf and the Elf? Is she…?_ he thought hopefully. _Is she saving the best for last…?_

Oghren was beaming up at her, shaking his shaggy head. "Ancestors tits!" he exclaimed. "If it isn't my pint-sized Mage! You're looking sodding brilliant, for someone who's dead." He frowned suddenly. "You been working out or somethin'?" he asked, giving her arm a squeeze. You're skinnier than a shambling corpse."

"We got a little lost in the Deep Roads," she explained laughingly, hugging Zevran's arm. "I got to know the word 'ration' pretty well…Golly it's been…" She shrugged, grimacing. "I'll just have to tell you later," she promised; a smile lighting up her eyes again. "Oh, it's so good to see the two of you! I want to know what you've both been up to!"

Zevran reached out to brush flour from her chin; his thumb caressing her skin as though only through touch could he believe that she was here. "Well, we have missed you, my battle Magette…but perhaps Alistair…"

"Oh, I know! He's formally Warden Commander!" She interrupted, clapping her hands together. "That's just brilliant! Have you seen him?" she asked. "I suppose I should go and say hello…Though he's probably busy, you know – wearing the _big armour…_does it have Griffons on it? I hope there are Griffons! Aw, that would be just…_brilliant_! Maybe two of them facing each…Oghren, are you all right?"

The Dwarf was doing the oddest things with his eyebrows; rolling his eyes, his nose twitching at her. Her eyes scrunched up at him, "What?" she asked, confused. Had he developed a tic as a result of injuries sustained in the final battle? Was he having some kind of fit…? What…?

"Oghren. Do I need to mix you up a tonic?" she asked solicitously, feeling concern for her old travelling friend. "What's wrong with your eye?"

By now the tic involved Oghren's entire head in a hideous ballet of inept winking and head jerking. He eventually gave up. Leaning in close, he hissed, "_Alistair_…"

"Yess…" she slid a _look _up at Zevran. "We were just discussing him…Oh, I get it! Shouldn't be talking about the old Warden Commander – his ears must be burning! Ha, ha!"

The Dwarf swayed on his feet as his hand went to his head, scratching at his fiery eyebrows. "What does it _take_…?" he muttered.

"What does it take for what?" Merran asked.

Zevran cleared his throat pointedly. Holding one hand up to the side of his face, he pointed into his palm with the other. "He's just next to us…" he whispered helpfully.

Merran looked left and right. She threw her hands into the air, completely at a loss. "_Where_?"

Oghren rolled his eyes. Pointing to a tall man next to him, he said. "_Here…_"

Merran nodded politely. "Oh." She hadn't even _noticed _the other gentleman standing there, to be quite honest; too occupied seeing her old friends…Her _favourite_ Elf in the whole of Thedas and her second-favourite Dwarf…She looked up at the man. It was an awfully long way to look and when she arrived there, she returned her gaze back to Oghren immediately. The tall, broad-shouldered man with longish hair and trim goatee did not look familiar at all. She leant forward towards Oghren, lowering her voice.

"Um…are you _sure_?"

She chanced another look up at the human. It was rude to stare – she knew it was rude to stare - and the man did _not _look happy…

Oghren crossed his arms across his chest, tilting his head to the side. "Uh huh. Warden's honour."

"Really?" she blurted out loudly before she could help herself. "He doesn't…I mean..._No_…! Really?"

"I would suggest that our scowling friend show some kind of identification," Zevran said smoothly, flicking the briefest of mocking glances at the tunic-wearing man. "A strawberry coloured birthmark in the shape of a crown perhaps…a pattern of freckles making up a humorous gesture. Alas we may be out of luck in this area…"

Merran chuckled. She slapped her leg, raising a cloud of flour. "Well…" she began with high humour. "_I _remember he had this interesting mole on his…um…ha, ha…But that's probably too much information and – um - I can't remember now where I was going with that so I'll just stop…_Look_," she gave a sigh. "I know you haven't seen me for a while but, is this the part where you say 'surprise! Ha ha! Got you!' and tell me this is all a bit of a joke and then I'll say 'pull the other one, it has bells on…' Because you…Why _are _you making that face Oghren? Are you _sure _you don't need an elixir or something?

The Dwarf had covered his face with his hand, shaking his head, defeated. He had no idea what else to do or say, short of shaving the Warden Commander, giving him a buzz-cut, putting him in splintmail and pinning a helpful sign to his chest saying: _Hi, my name is Alistair!_ _Bastard prince, Warden Commander and Friend to Fine Cheeses…_

"Oh very well…" She gave a heavy sigh, looking obediently back up at the man. "Well I suppose you…" He really did look scary…She had fought countless Darkspawn, faced demons, been victorious against the walking dead and had taught a Qunari warrior the value of a well-maintained biscuit cutter. There was very little in this world that riled or perturbed her – but this man with the unfriendly, scary face - quite frankly - was giving her the heebie-jeebies.

One of his eyebrows appeared to be sardonically and permanently buried under the thick lock of hair that fell across his tanned forehead. His beard and moustache were liberally peppered with grey; as were the thick strands that waved from his temples. He looked…old…world-weary and far too cynical for the Alistair that she had come to know. How many years had elapsed, she wondered since she had last seen them all? Zevran and Oghren showed no signs of ageing…even his eyes had a glint in them that made her wary and skittish. She wanted to run from this hard-jawed individual. He looked as though a smile had never touched the muscles of his face…and if it did, the world would come to an end.

Zevran and Oghren wouldn't lie though…not about this…

_I don't know…_she thought miserably. _I want to believe, but…_

Reaching up, she tentatively touched his face, running a single finger down his cheek to where skin met surprisingly soft beard hair. She heard his sharp intake of breath as she traced the line of a new scar down his neck to his collarbone, the palm of her hand finally coming to rest above his heart. She closed her eyes. Head tilted to the side, she counted the beats of his heart, measuring its rhythm against her own. _Now…this is something I remember…_His hand came up to cover hers, watching her mouth curve upwards into a smile, cheeks dimpling in a way that was both familiar and beloved.

She opened her eyes. Staring at his hand over hers, she blinked once, still smiling. The barest wrinkle appeared above the bridge of her nose. She gave a haughty sniff, and in a considering tone of voice told him, "You have very big hands."

"Hmph!" an impatient female voice spoke behind them. "Big hands or not – who's going to clean up this mess?"

Merran turned, grimacing apologetically. "Oh, sorry Mistress Bronwyn…I kind of got a bit…distracted…"

"Well," the cook continued ruthlessly. "Perhaps you can now get distracted with a broom! Hm?"

Merran nodded. _Yeah…_she thought, cheeks turning the colour of cherries. _That's probably a good idea…_

-oo-

His…_office…_Merran had been glad Bronwyn was such a forebearing soul. Once her domain had been returned to its pristine state, the Keep's cook had agreed to keep Brogan downstairs for the moment. Merran didn't know how long that would last. The lad had an uncanny ability to sneak past people and appear by her side – almost by magic. Having Brogan here would probably have made this even more difficult. He'd become rather clingy – and he'd been referring to her as 'Mummy' – hardly disconcerting because it was kind of cute, but it did mean that she should take extra care with him. It hadn't been too long since his own parents had been taken from him…

She watched Alistair bend down to arrange logs and tinder in the fireplace. "Um…" he turned to her apologetically. "You wouldn't mind…?"

Merran shrugged. "Sorry," she told him. "Can't seem to do fire spells anymore."

"Oh." He looked disappointed and she turned away, taking stock of the spacious room. The place had a kind of abandoned look to it, though it was clean and dust free. The massive Ironwood desk had only an ink pot and quill-stand upon it; there were no papers or signs work had touched the dark wood surface recently. Behind the desk, high up on the wall a shield had been hung; crossed with a couple of dull-edged swords.

Looking more closely, she noticed that someone had attempted to erase the emblem on the shield…

"I hardly ever use this place."

Alistair came up behind her. He too looked up at the arrangement of shield and swords. "You see that sort of thing all over the Keep," he commented. "I think staff tried to get rid of anything that reminded them of their former master…"

"Howe…" Merran murmured, thinking of Nathaniel. She felt his hand on her shoulder, one stray finger caressing the side of her neck.

"I guess the two of us have a lot to catch up on," he told her.

Merran nodded. He _was _the Warden Commander. Of course, it would be appropriate to brief him on the information she had collected in the Deep Roads. He would need to know about the Broodmothers – and the warring factions of Darkspawn. If they put their heads together, they were sure to come up with some kind of explanation. If not; then some kind of strategy to find out more.

"Well," she began. "Here's the thing; and an odd thing at that. Travelling up from Cadash Thaig, we encountered very few Darkspawn. The ones that we did were already dead and we found these weird crawling…"

"Merran." Gripping her other shoulder, he turned her around to face him. "That's not what I meant."

She frowned up at him. "You don't want to hear about Darkspawn?" she asked.

"Oh, I _always _want to hear about Darkspawn," he reassured her wryly. "My favourite monsters in the whole of Thedas? I assure you, I'll be _riveted_…"

Her frown deepened. "Alist…" she began – and stopped. Stepping forwards, she wrapped her arms around his waist, one hand reaching up high to warm the base of his neck with her fingers. His own arms slipped around her shoulders, his head lowering to rest his forehead against hers. Her eyes were closed so it was just a couple more inches to touch his lips to hers. As he began to kiss her, he felt magic flow from the base of his skull across his shoulder blades; sweeping down the length of his spine like a gentle shower of ice. He shivered as the magic continued downwards through his hips and down his legs.

His old Templar skills of detection were not so rusty that he couldn't recognise powerful magic when it touched him. This…this was slightly…_unfamiliar _magic…

Loath to detach his mouth from hers, he opened his eyes slightly, murmuring, "You were never good at healing…"

She smiled against his lips, her eyes opening to regard him with such honesty and earnestness; it made him wish he'd suggested they meet in his private chambers and not his office…

"It's the only thing I can do now," she sighed. Her lips twitched. "Feel better?"

"Like I could quite happily swing from the chandeliers," he said, prompting a soft chuckle from her. "I have very nice chandeliers in my rooms," he added. "Would you like to have a look?"

"So I can watch you swinging from them?" she asked, eyebrows curving upwards.

"Weeell…not _just _swing," he said. "I can think of other things besides..._swinging_…"

She cocked her head at him. "Ah," she said, colour rushing up her neck to paint her cheeks and ears. Her bottom lip curled between her teeth. She looked anxious. "Alistair, there's something I really need to tell y…"

The door to the office crashed open. Jowan stood leaning heavily on the door. He swallowed painfully, breathing hard. His open shirt was soaked on one side with blood; his feet were bare. Staggering into the room, he held out his hands towards them.

"I heard you were back…" he said hoarsely. "I didn't believe it. I could scarcely believe it…And yet, here you are…" He stumbled and would have fallen if Merran had not moved hurriedly forwards to intercept him. He fell heavily against her and she too would have fallen if not for the desk behind her. Sobbing, Jowan wound his arms around his old dormitory mate.

"I'm sorry," he cried into her hair. "I'm so, so sorry…"

His weakened legs buckling beneath him, Jowan fell to the floor. "I've done a bad thing," he told her. "Such a bad, bad thing…"


	20. Flying Porridge

-oo-

**Chapter 20 – Flying Porridge**

_Not this again…_Grabbing fistfuls of bloodied shirt, Alistair removed the sobbing Mage from Merran, dumping him into the nearest chair. Jowan dropped his head into his hands, rocking backwards and forwards, muttering incoherently through his fingers.

Merran fell to her knees beside him, looking up at Alistair for clues.

"What does he mean 'a bad thing'?" she asked.

The Warden Commander sighed, irritated at Jowan's incredibly bad timing. He wished even more that he'd invited Merran back to his own room – or remembered to lock the damn door to his office. He would very much like to pick the sobbing Mage up and throw him into the corridor, but he suspected that was unlikely to be received well. He lifted his hand to run it through his hair. Realising it was covered in blood; he instead wiped it on the back of Jowan's shirt.

"This old chestnut?" Alistair's mouth twisted, irritated at himself as well as Jowan. "He and that marsh witch conspired to enthrall Riordan to perform the Joining, so that a _certain _blood magic ritual could be performed…thus creating a creature with the soul of an old god to be enslaved by Darkspawn – welcome to the next Blight…!" Turning his back on the Mages, Alistair went behind his desk, throwing himself into the large, wing-backed chair petulantly. He folded his arms across his chest, glaring at Jowan's lachrymose display. It was impressive, but wearying.

"Quite frankly," he told them, "I've gotten a bit tired of the whole 'feeling sorry for myself' thing…" Settling deep into the seat of the chair, he brought his feet up onto the desk, crossing his boots at the ankles.

Merran looked up at Alistair, surprised by the acidity of his tone. Chewing on her bottom lip, she passed her hands over Jowan's side.

"No old god was created…" Merran assured them both. If there had been, there would have been no Urthemiel in the Fade…Wynne's plan must have worked…She reached up, unwrapping Jowan's hands from around his head. Her old friend looked at her with bloodshot eyes.

"What do you mean?" Jowan rasped. "Was Morrigan wrong? Did the ritual not work…?"

Giving Jowan's hands a reassuring squeeze, Merran stood. Folding her arms across her own chest, she took a step backwards, carefully placing herself equidistant between the two men. She glanced at Alistair. His eyes were narrowed at her, but he remained silent. For now.

"I had hoped Wy…_someone _would have told you…"

"Well…" Alistair spoke, angling himself so that his eyes were just visible over the tops of his boots. "'Wy' wasn't around much post-Blight. A couple of months after Denerim, she returned to the Tower of Mages, after which she came back briefly to announce her intention to assist Shale find a way to return to fleshy-form." Raising his gaze to the ceiling, he added. "I would have thought _that _would have been the last thing Shale would have had on her mind." He tossed off a casual shrug. "But who am I to question the whims of Mages and golems…?"

Gripping her sides, Merran directed her eyes to stare at the rug, bewildered by the coldness and bitterness in Alistair's voice. It was…it was so unlike him…Not the sarcasm – he'd always had that. She'd always thought his smart comments had been borne out of a repressed, bored intellect. He could be droll, and witty and cute and clever…but never detached or cold.

Or spiteful.

"Merran." Jowan's voice jolted her out of her thoughts. "If the ritual didn't work then…? I…I don't understand…"

"We altered Flemeth's Grimoire," Merran told them, her voice just slightly above a whisper. "We…_changed _the old spell that would bypass the Warden Taint to create a vessel for Urthemiel's soul…"

"Oh, how _clever_," Alistair drawled, eyes glittering. "And how clever of the both of you to keep us informed. Was it highly secret, _Mage _business?"

_Secret Mage business? _Hardly, Merran frowned to herself. There hadn't been open discussion; just in case Morrigan got wind of the plan, but she certainly hadn't expected Wynne to withhold that bit of information from Alistair…Did she simply not get the chance? Not even to reassure him afterwards that certain steps had been taken? Tried to be, anyway…She looked up; startled by the heat in Alistair's glare. Of _course_ he would be upset about this but…the look in his eye told her there was more than just anger lurking behind that stare.

"Not really…" she murmured – Alistair snorted, muttering something under his breath that neither Mage could hear.

"We didn't know it would work," Merran explained, transferring her gaze back to Jowan. "And it was risky."

"Riskier than creating another Blight?" Alistair scoffed.

Merran tried to ignore him. "We knew that Flemeth had survived…Somehow. Neither of us knew whether she had been able to find physical form. What we did know was that she would be angry…"

"A bit of an understatement, that."

"And we expected that anger to be directed at Morrigan." She turned briefly to Alistair. "This is why I tried to make her leave, the night before the battle in Denerim," she told him.

"Oh, the night before the big battle," Alistair practically sneered. "Convenience, or just plain coincidence?"

"I'd been receiving information from Bodahn Feddic for a while," Merran continued as though the Warden Commander hadn't spoken. "He'd been the one who provided information about the Couslands surviving Howe's slaughter. He'd also been keeping his ear out about Loghain's civil war; about what had been happening in the Bannorn. For a percentage of the profits from the sale of dragon scale, he agreed to send his 'scouts' to the Korcari Wilds. The information only reached us the day before the Horde arrived."

"Ah…" Alistair drawled again. "A happy coincidence then."

Fists clenching into the fabric of her shirt, Merran told him, "Bodahn's people returned to the Korcari Wilds at great risk…"

"And great profit it seems."

Merran rubbed at her temples. "Flemeth could have already taken over Morrigan for all that we knew. If it had been just Morrigan, we might have gotten away with it. If it was Flemeth, she might have tried…_other _ways."

"Or…" Alistair offered, though there was little of helpfulness in his tone of voice. "Morrigan could have been trained in the ritual long before she'd even _met _us. Flemeth rescued us from Ostagar – I doubt that she did it out of the goodness of her blackened little heart. Surely you didn't discount the idea that she might have cooked this plan up a long time ago?"

"…well, no …" Merran agreed in a small voice.

"You always did trust Morrigan too much," Alistair told her, sounding bored. "You witches always stick together…"

At this, Jowan leapt to his feet, lightning crackling around his fingertips. "You go too far!"

Alistair gave a single, derisive snort and raised his hand. Flicking his finger towards the Mage, he sent a Holy Smite at him so powerful, Jowan was knocked backwards over his chair, rolling across the floor repeatedly until his unconscious body came to rest against the hearth of the fireplace; the force of his fall reopening his wounds.

Merran rushed to his side. Before she could utter a single healing spell however, she found Alistair blocking her path.

"He needs healing!" she protested.

"He can wait," he growled at her. With a jaw set like diamond and eyes spitting fire, he told her through gritted teeth. "Things might have been different during the Blight…but I am the _Warden Commander _here and I don't _appreciate_ important information being withheld from me. You might be used to going off on your own little missions with your band of loyal followers, but that changes _now, _Warden." He paused, letting her digest this bit of information, then added, "Have I made myself clear?"

Trying not to flinch, she dutifully met his gaze and replied, "Yes Ser."

He stepped away abruptly. He knew she would rush to the side of her fallen comrade and he didn't want to see that. Ignoring them both, Alistair strode to the door, flinging it open and slamming it hard behind him. He stood leaning against the door a few moments, staring at the wall opposite. _Damn Jowan for interrupting…_! If the blasted Mage hadn't come in, he would have managed to keep his temper in check. _I did not handle that well…_

It was too late. It had been done and he had no inclination to take it back, or apologise. If anything, he hoped he'd made his feelings clear.

He was tired of being left behind by her.

-oo-

"Heyy!" Marduk waved his spoon at her from across the room. Merran changed her course and headed towards his table. Brogan was already seated next to him, contemplating a large bowl of porridge. A couple of seats away, Oghren and Zevran were engaged in an early morning game of Diamondback, using toast as currency. She smiled a greeting at them both, and sat next to Brogan, lowering herself gingerly onto the bench. Brogan immediately pushed the bowl of porridge towards her. She pushed it back.

"If you don't eat up, you won't grow up big and strong like Marduk," she told him.

Brogan blew her a raspberry, but he did pick up his spoon at least. Merran grinned at Marduk, surprised to see him eyeing her with concern.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly.

"Hm, why shouldn't I be?" she asked, pilfering a hunk of bread from his plate.

"You just look like…I don't know…" _Really unhappy,_ he thought, forehead wrinkling.

There was an amused chuckle a few seats down. Oghren wiggled his eyebrows at them. "Warden Commander keeping you up, huh Merran-Mage?" He sent her a thumbs-up over a lecherous grin. "Good on ya!"

She ignored the comment, turning to supervise Brogan's breakfast. Marduk continued to watch her closely. She didn't _look _as though being 'kept up' by the Warden Commander was something she was enjoying. He didn't even want to think about what that might mean. He'd asked around – after he and Nathaniel had woken up and raided the kitchen – about the Warden Commander. He heard various things but not enough to form a firm idea of the man. On Merran's current expression alone however, he was prepared to hate him on sight.

Tired of being stared at, Merran looked up at him. "Look, I'm _fine_…" She sighed. "And it's not what you think." Pinning Oghren with a stern look, she added. "It's nothing…" She stood up suddenly. "I'm going to get something to eat," she told them. She nodded her head towards Brogan and his rapidly cooling porridge. "When we've finished breakfast we can go check on Cullen, all right?" She smiled at Marduk. "I hear _you're_ off looking for smugglers today".

The young Dwarf screwed up his face. "Yeah. The last thing on my mind when I joined the Grey Wardens was hunting down smugglers. Surfacers…" he threw his hands in the air. "Go figure…"

She ruffled his hair affectionately as she went past. Unable to help himself, he watched her progress across the room as she collected a plate and rolls from the basket. When he turned back, Brogan was looking dark, holding his spoon in his fist like a mace.

"Hmph," Oghren bit noisily into one of the high-value slices of toast he'd just won from the Elf. "'Nothing' huh? It ain't nothing when the Commander's been obsessing about her for the last year."

"The course of true love is rarely a smooth journey, my hygienically-challenged friend," Zevran replied, his gaze fixed on the cards in his hands. "It is not uncommon for travellers to encounter a pothole or two and break an axle."

As expected of him, the red-haired Dwarf guffawed lewdly. Tapping his nose knowingly, he added, "Or maybe…it's his _broken axle _that's the problem…eh?"

Marduk was a little too slow reaching over to cover Brogan's ears. The boy turned a fuming gaze towards Oghren. Completely oblivious to the Dwarf child's movements, Oghren continued to count his toast chips, throwing in his bet. So immersed in his play was he that he didn't notice Brogan scooping up a generous portion of porridge with his spoon, taking aim…and letting loose the load…

-oo-

"You know…" Alistair sighed. "Being Warden Commander…It's…well it's…I have great armour," he told her, though without any enthusiasm. "Every day is such a joy…I look forward to waking up just to see what Warden Commandering is going to bring me…I really live for the excitement; the challenge of facing the…And you don't believe a single word I'm saying do you?"

Cullen sneezed at him. He made a rude noise at her. Did Duncan have to put up with all the chaff and bits of weevil in amongst the good barley, he wondered? Never mind that he was mixing his metaphors – it did feel as though there had been more weevil recently than anything else…_Sigh._ Holy Smiting an injured Mage had been unsporting – and stopping his friend from helping had added extra badness points. But he'd been angry – _Maker,_ had he been angry!

She rested her head against his shoulder; the two of them propped against the hay bales in companionable silence. Alistair tipped his head back; closing his eyes, breathing in the scent of hay and horse…and of course, damp dog fur. It was a comforting smell, one from his childhood. Even though it hadn't been the happiest of childhoods, there was comfort to be found in clean warm hay and a well-worn horse blanket. He knew he should be attending to Arling business – Varel had mentioned something about holding court this morning. The Seneschal had made it sound like a treat but he would rather have choked on an all-day sucker…

Lulled by the sound of Cullen's breathing and the heat of the sun streaming through an overhead window, Alistair began to drowse.

Soft footsteps approached. He could sense hesitation – and then the stall door opening. He heard an angry shout before something stepped on his leg and delivered a sharp kick to his nethers that had his eyes springing open and tears spurting from his eyes. Alistair doubled over with an unhappy grunt as he continued to be assaulted by what felt like a very aggressive and angry ragdoll.

"Brogan! Stop! Stop! Stop!"

"Don't you be mean to my Mummy again, ya sodding nug humper!" something squeaked at him.

Cullen rose to her feet and gave one short, sharp bark. Whatever it was stopped hitting him and he risked a peek through his arms at his assailant. He had heard Merran's voice, but the small blonde haired boy she was attempting to restrain looked familiar. Alistair had seen the boy around the Keep. He belonged to the Cook or one of the servants…Wait. He's called Merran _what_?

Standing at the stall gate, Merran threw an apologetic grimace his way, looking as though she would rather be on the other side of Ferelden than in a horse stall with _him._

"We came to see how Cullen was fairing," she explained, embarrassed at having to breathe in the same space as he. "I'm _really_ sorry about…" Bending down to the seething child, she pleaded, "Please say sorry to the Warden Commander."

"No."

Merran's cheeks flushed. "Brogan, please…" she whispered something into his ear. The little boy turned an unhappy look at her before resuming his laser-beam glare.

"Sorry," he said in a resentful voice.

Merran cringed. "That's not quite what I meant, Brogan," she said almost to herself.

"It's all right, _really_," Alistair assured them both hurriedly. He stood a tad unsteadily, wincing. Out of self-preservation he kept his gaze firmly glued to the child and remained out of kicking range. The boy was tiny; barely the height of one of the Mabari's forelegs, with an unruly mop of creamy coloured hair and a pair of chocolate brown eyes…He was quite cute in a hideous-child kind of way. If he and Merran had been just ordinary folk, he could imagine a child of theirs looking like this one…

Cold ice washed through his veins. He gaped at the child as Merran encouraged the lad towards the Mabari. As soon as the boy toddled off, he grabbed Merran's arm and yanked her out of the stall.

"_Merran…_" he began urgently. "Do we have to…do we have to…_talk_?"

She pulled her arm away, refusing to look at him. "I don't know," she whispered nervously. "Will it involve Holy Smiting my best friend and cementing me to your fireplace?" she enquired.

"That! Oh…uh…No. Merran…" He pointed back towards the stall. "Is he…is he…_ours?_"

"Huh…?" At first she stared at him in incomprehension, then her eyes widened, finally crinkling into half-moons as she began laughing at him.

He frowned at her. Maybe he should Holy Smite her afterall…just a little bit. "Why do you find this funny?" he asked in all seriousness. The boy had similar features…well of course, he was no expert – all children looked the same to him – but there was the blond hair and the brown eyes. He even looked the right age. Of course she would have had to have had him…um…she would have…He tried counting the months in his head and the numbers he came up with were not quite enough…

"Because," she confirmed his thoughts, eyes twinkling at him, "I would have had to conceive him _before_ we met_._ Brogan is a Dwarven child," she explained. "Don't let his size fool you…"

"Yes well, I've learned _that _lesson…" Alistair grimaced at her.

"Again Alistair, I'm _really_ sorry…"

He tentatively raised a hand to her face, lowering it almost immediately. "Are you sure?" he asked, for some odd reason feeling disappointed. "You…didn't get swept off your feet by a handsome and witty Chantry trainee…uh…"

"Six…" she supplied with a grin.

"…_six_ years ago?" He looked again at the lad. He was _six _years old? He looked a third of that…

She laughed at his look of shock. "Not unless you happened to be passing by the Circle Tower and decided to drop in and visit the _childrens' quarters_." To his surprise, she reached up with a spontaneous but genuinely affectionate hug. "You nut."

She began to step away, but he wasn't having that; winding his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in close. If Jowan or Oghren or anyone else were to come here now, he was going to run them through with a pitchfork…

"Children's quarters?" he queried, raising his eyebrow. "Are you sure it wouldn't have been the _nursery_?" He grinned into her hair. "Or merely a twinkle in some lecherous Grey Warden's eye…?"

His smile dropped abruptly from his face. "I'm sorry I got mad at you yesterday," he whispered into her hair. She smelled like fresh baked biscuits and soap; vanilla and lilies…and stewed elfroot…

"I'm sorry I kept things from you," she told him. "I keep trying to protect you and end up hurting you instead. And you had so much to deal with…During the Blight, you were taking on so much. It just didn't seem fair."

"Huh, fair? With _you_ taking on the lion's share? I thought I only had to show up, at the end…"

She sighed. "Can you say 'idiot'?"

Hands on either side of her face, he butted his head against hers. "Idiot," he called her. She grinned up at him.

"And now, you're in charge."

"Oh yes..." he acknowledged with a lopsided smile. "It's the end of the world as we know it…"

-oo-


	21. Interview

-oo-

**Chapter 21 – Interview**

This really was a _cold _office, she thought, looking around. It wasn't empty by any means. There was furniture and rugs and wall hangings – and that scratched shield and sword arrangement thingy on the wall. There was also a big fire blazing at her back; warming the room. No, the coldness wasn't in temperature, it was in…she wasn't too sure what it was really, wondering whether the previous Arl had ever used the place.

_Hm…_Curiosity getting the better of her, she cast a quick look at the door, then stretched over to have a look at the massive-backed chair behind the desk. Nope…there was no bottom imprint – so did that mean new chair, or old chair but unused?

She was still lying across over the desk when the door opened. Caught in such an undignified and unjustifiable position, Merran gave a mighty kick, cracking her knees painfully on the wood, her ribcage making an audible drrrrrt! noise as she slid across the edge of the desk.

"What are you doing?"

Alistair kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot, staring expectantly at her from the edge of the rug.

"Um…" _Looking for buttock prints…_she thought at him. She didn't say the words out loud. He looked far too frazzled and annoyed for humorous comments, having just come from a session with a roomful of nobles. He wore his Warden Commander's armour – an impressive set on anyone, but on him it looked…_nice._ She wondered how long it would take to undo every buckle and fastener…slowly revealing muscled limbs and creamy, sun-neglected skin under the padding…Cheeks suddenly burning, she threw herself backwards into her chair, until she realised that he was in Warden Commander mode and technically she should stand…so she popped right up again, wobbling to her feet.

Alistair stalked to the other side of his desk, staring at her suspiciously.

"No really," he said. "What were you doing? And why is your face red?"

"I've just been…exercising," she told him rather unconvincingly. "Yes. Exercising." She gave a couple of jumps, stretching out her shoulders. "Chilly day – just trying to warm up. You know how it is."

His eyes narrowed at her. "No, I don't." Warm up? The room was stifling. Whoever lit the fire had gone about it a little too enthusiastically. He'd like nothing more than to strip off his armour so he could stop feeling like he was in a portable oven…except that there were too many damned clasps and buckles on it that it was far easier to just stay in it for as long as possible…unless of course, there was _someone_ close by who could help him out of it…But no. They were here for official business and stripping off his armour would mean her touching him; and the thought of her soft hands slipping under his shirt…and…well, they couldn't have _that_…Could they?

His eyes strayed to the surface of his desk…_You know, that might work…It wouldn't be comfortable exactly but it wasn't as if they needed to…lie…down…_Um. Work. Yes. Warden Commander. Grey Warden business. Focus.

He cleared his throat, whipping himself with a mental crop to try to get back on track. Seating himself he noticed that she was wearing Mage robes. It was unusual for her as one; she usually hated wearing them and two; she didn't have any. Or so he thought. Clearly she did; though they did seem to be sitting on her oddly…

Clasping his hands on the desk, Alistair leaned forward slightly. She looked nervous and worried. Despite their brief interlude in the stables she seemed ill-at-ease in his company now and he sighed inwardly. Maybe calling her into this particular room was a bad idea, but short of kicking Varel out of his…and with the Keep's finances so tight he wasn't about to suggest redecoration…

"So…" he began, trying not to look at the funny robes she wore. What was it that bothered him about them?

"So," she repeated, staring at his chestplate – _it had Griffons on it! Griffons! And it's never occurred to me before…Griffons are…rather sexy…_

"First of all, I apologise for being late," he said in his official voice. _It's the colour perhaps…that horrible, lurid mustard colour she wore in Ostagar…no, no that's not it._

"No, no, not at all," she assured him with a polite smile. "I know you're busy after all." _Hurgh, I wish I could get busy with you…_Which set her off blushing again._ Damn, damn, damn…_

"Well, I wanted to get it together with – uh, meet – _meet_ with you to discuss…" What was it he wanted to discuss again? And then he realised what it was that had been prodding him at the back of his mind. "Stitching!" he announced.

"Stitching?" she echoed, bewildered. "You want me to sew something for you?"

"What? No, that's not what I meant." And now that he had thought of it, he couldn't stop _looking._ Whoever had designed female mage robes had obviously done so in order to distinguish male mages from female. Because the panels had been stitched to _emphasise _the fact that female mages had…_breasts._

"Well, maybe…you should start again?"

"That would be breast – best – best!" His head fell forward with a loud thunk on the desk, as he groaned in embarrassment. He refused to look at her, peeking through the gaps in his gloved fingers. She was trying not to laugh, her cheeks so red they looked on fire.

Finally, he raised his head. He pointed to her mage robes. "Why are you wearing those?"

"All I have is currently on the laundry line," she explained. "I borrowed these from Wynne – and you know how well-endowed _she _is."

"Ah…that's why they look funny on you…"

"Yes," she said wryly. "Wynne has breasts – I don't."

"Oh?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Did you misplace them somewhere? Lend them out? Give them to charity? I'm pretty sure you had them the last time I saw you." Not counting when she had been a dragon of course. But before that…Nope. He definitely remembered seeing them on her.

"I think they fell off somewhere in the Deep Roads," she sighed. "Anyway funny man, what did you call me here for?"

"Besides look at your breasts?" he asked, one eyebrow taking refuge under his floppy hair. "Or lack of thereof?"

"You just _had_ to get that out of your system, didn't you?"

"My love, I haven't even _begun_…" he told her, thinking she had absolutely _no idea…_Or did she? Because if she did then that _would _be rather convenient…He sighed a sigh long and deep filled with the potential for Oghren to make any number of lewd innuendo – but then Oghren could make innuendo out of the Chant of Light…"Business?" he asked; after which he would suggest seeing for himself whether the Deep Roads explanation was actually true.

"Business," she agreed, trying not to think how lovely it was hearing him call her 'my love' – even if he hadn't noticed it himself. "You mentioned something about…an interview?"

He nodded, some of the amusement leaving his eyes. "Merran…you said before – you can't do certain types of magic?"

Grimacing, she nodded. "Yes. When I first found myself in the Deep Roads I didn't think I had any at all – and then I was lucky enough to meet up with some of the Legion of the Dead and by sheer chance found that I can only heal."

"Really?" he asked, surprised. The magic she had used on him to finish the repair on his back had been incredibly powerful. It seemed…odd that she wouldn't be able to do anything else.

"I've done some tests with Wynne – it's like…" Her face screwed up in deep thought. "It's like the healing ability is taking up all the space where I would normally be able to do a little bit of everything else. It's not like I can't _remember_ fire spells or hexes – I can say the words, do the gestures but nothing happens."

"I see…" Alistair murmured, the anxiety he had felt that had prompted this meeting in the first place increasing.

"It's not like I can't defend myself," she hastily added. "I can cast near-impenetrable rock armour; set up paralysis and spirit barriers. I can also…" Her voice trailed away at his expression. "Alistair, healing is a useful ability in the field. You _need _healers out there with you."

"Not if I'm going to worry whether they can actually defend themselves Merran."

"Wynne's a healer – you had no problems about taking her everywhere we went," she argued.

"Wynne's good at other things," he pointed out. "She can freeze, burn, make things turn purple and fall off…I'm sorry Merran but I can't – I _won't _send you out to get hurt – or worse." She looked crestfallen; he might as well have told her 'you're useless to me, go away', but that wasn't what he meant. "Look, you can stay at the Keep, be our…" He realised almost too late that what he'd been about to suggest would be far worse. _Be our backup Healer…_He cringed inwardly. Was this how it was going to be? Every second time he was with her, it was going to turn out badly?

"Blast it," he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm doing this all wrong. I'm sorry."

"No," she made a face of pure self-deprecation. "I understand. You can't afford to worry about me when you have other things to think about on the field. And with these weird Darkspawn around, we both have to be extra careful."

"The 'Mother'" he stated.

She nodded. "A broodmother leading the Darkspawn…It could mean there's another leading the other faction – if there are _only_ two groups…"

"That's what I'm hoping to find out," he told her. "Which led me to this talk today. I wanted you to come with me," he shrugged apologetically. "To be honest I don't want to let you out of my sight, but you're just going to have to stay home and look after the kids on this one."

She gave a mirthless laugh. "Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?" she said unhappily.

"That's…" He leant closer, looking intently at her. "I…I don't know whether Wynne told you, but the – I don't know how I would describe it – the Taint isn't the same in me any more. I can detect Darkspawn, but I can't 'feel' other Wardens. Not that I'm complaining or anything – well, yes I am sort of, but…well, the nightmares don't happen any more and nor does the hunger. Do you think it might mean that…well, you know…that we're…normal? That we could…" _Sigh…_He thought this sort of thing didn't bother him anymore, but he felt his ears turn pink anyway.

"Fathering children you mean?" she asked, with all the straight-talking openness of a Healer. A cheeky smile dimpled her cheeks as she waggled her finger at him, "Ooh, be careful. If Arl Eamon catches wind of you fathering a brood of Theirins, he might have another try at returning the line of Calenhad to the throne."

"Maker help us all," he agreed, then turned serious again. "So you think I can? Not that I'm going to rush out and impregnate every woman I see…" _It's only the _one_ that I want…_

"You know I asked the same question of Wynne," she said, finger tapping her chin in thought. "It is hard to explain, isn't it? Whatever happened to us on Fort Drakon…It seems that we were both _changed _by our contact with the soul of the Old God – well of course _I _was changed. Technically, I died…" She stopped, chewing anxiously on her lower lip. "I came back with the same body – it feels the same anyway – just…" She grimaced apologetically, sorry she couldn't come up with a better way to say it. "Taint-less."

"So it's possible?" he asked, afraid of the hopefulness in his voice.

She shook her head – that simple gesture causing his intestines to make a painful twist. "Same body," she told him. "Same damage. Does that still shorten your lifespan...? I don't know. I suppose we could ask the Wardens at Weisshaupt, but the thought of being poked and prodded and used as some kind of testing animal fills me with dread."

Alistair thought of Avernus and agreed wholeheartedly.

"Duncan already wrote to the First Warden about you…" he frowned in sudden recollection. "Though no one's actually responded…"

"Because they don't know I'm back…?"

"Oh yes," he admitted. "That…might have something to do with it."

"Alistair…"

He didn't like that tone of voice. A voice like that carried tears and a thousand regrets in its depths. A voice that told him unhappiness was about to stick a sword through his gut – and then tell him that his puppy had just died…

"Yes. Merran."

He could see her take a bracing breath of air. "Wynne thinks that the Old God may have returned me for a reason. One last Warden mission, as it were."

_Oh Maker…not again…_

"…and after that…?"

"I return to the Fade…or move on…" she told him.

"So…it's business as usual," he said, with a pathetic attempt at flippancy. _A broken heart, unfulfilled promises and deep, dark, terrifying loneliness…_"Taking each day as it comes – making every moment count," he added. "That sort of thing." _Can I do this again?_

"I guess."

_I can't do this again…_"Sure, I can do that." _But this time around, I'll do the job properly. I'll head to the Deep Roads and hope to the Maker I can find her in the Fade afterwards…_

He stood up suddenly, feeling ill.

"Are you all right?" she asked. He gazed down at her. _No! No, I'm not! _his mind screamed at her.

"I have preparations to make," he said out loud and with a calm he did not feel. "I'll be taking a group back to the Dwarven ruins where you encountered the broodmothers. If you don't mind," he added, "I'd like to take your little Dwarf with me. Kristoff tells me he has a good head for the Deep Roads."

She nodded, concern written in the lines crinkling above her worried eyes. "Sure."

"Right…So I'll…see you later?"

"I'd like that."

"Later then." Right. _Right_. He managed a reassuring, if slightly strained smile before he turned to leave. The 'interview' had run true to form. It _had_ turned out badly. He had been hoping to be told that her offensive spells were just…_resting_ and she could come with him; the two of them travelling side by side like they used to…but it wasn't to be. He would just have to break the promise he had made to himself: that he would never be without her again.

At least, he thought, he wouldn't have to worry about her when they encountered Darkspawn. She'd be safe at the Keep. For now.

-oo-

Library. Cheese. Nice big, freshly baked hunks of bread. When Varel had mentioned the Keep had a library, she just had to find it. The smell of musty paper and binding glue was ambrosia to her deprived senses. Unfortunately it was also a neglected mess and she had roped Jowan into helping her catalogue and re-shelve all the books, putting aside the ones that needed repair. It was a depressingly large pile.

Besides, she reminded herself; she needed to keep busy and sorting through the mouldy mountains of parchment and leather was keeping her not-particularly happy thoughts at bay.

"You know I think someone's tried to light a fire in here."

Jowan's voice floated to her from the other side of the room. Alistair had taken Anders with him to the Deep Roads. As the two mages spent most of their time trying to set each other on fire, one of them had had to stay behind. Jowan had volunteered to keep her company.

Merran contemplated her slice of cheese. She'd been trying not to think of Alistair, but thoughts of him kept catching her unawares. Or maybe it was the cheese…He had spent longer than expected preparing for the indefinite trip to the abandoned Dwarven city, so the two of them hadn't seen each other the previous night – and he and the expedition had left early the following morning. It had been tempting to sneak into his bed, but she had to remind herself that she was in a Keep full of people – some of them young children. This wasn't like travelling in a small party with tents…

"These are badly burned, Merran," Jowan's voice jolted her once more out of her thoughts. "I don't think we can do much with these…oh! _The Adventures of Roland the Cat_! This turns up _everywhere, _I swear…" He came around the bookshelf; a tattered, blackened lump in one hand and a blue-cloth bound book in the other. "It doesn't even look like it's been read…" He looked up from inspecting the spine and nodded her head at her, indicating someone at the door.

She turned. Corporal Maberlies stood in the doorway and saluted. "Warden Ma'am, the Seneschal would like to see you."

"Thank you Alys," Merran murmured. "Did he say why?"

"No ma'am, but…he had Templars in attendance," she said, looking thoughtful. "They didn't look happy."

"Templars are always unhappy," Jowan commented. "It's a prerequisite for the job."

"Thanks, Alys," Merran informed her. "I'll head over there now."

The corporate saluted again. When she had left, Jowan raised his eyebrows at her. "'Alys'?" he enquired. "Is there anyone in this Keep you don't call by their first names?"

"Can't think of anyone," Merran grinned at him. Her smile slipped a little. "Templars…" she mused. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

"I thought you _liked _Templars – and, I'm coming with you."

"Not when you're a Mage, returned from the dead," she reminded him, the two of them taking the now-familiar route to Varel's office.

"Good point."

A few minutes later they reached the Seneschal's office. Merran raised her hand to knock when the door was yanked open from the inside. A female Templar stood in the doorway – Merran didn't even know there _were _female Templars – glaring at the two arrivals.

"Ah…" she said in a satisfied voice. "Come to turn yourselves in?"

"I beg your pardon?" Merran asked, baffled. Behind the Templar she could see Varel looking thunderous.

"I have here an order from the Revered Mother," the Templar informed her. "To bring in the Apostate illegally conscripted as a Grey Warden."

"And I have already informed _you,_" Varel said behind her in a voice that had lost all patience, "conscription by the Order of the Grey Wardens takes precedence over orders made by the Revered Mother or anyone else - _even_ the King."

"That is not my concern." The Templar gave the two Mages a hungry, reptilian smile. Her eyes travelled to Jowan, dust-smudged and in no mood to tangle with persistent Mage Hunters. When her searching gaze travelled down his arms, her eyes narrowed. She drew her sword. Her lips drew back from her teeth. "You're a blood mage…" she hissed.

"What, these?" Jowan raised his arms. "You try fighting Darkspawn and see if _you _don't get a few cuts and grazes."

The Templar ignored him. Motioning to her colleagues in the Seneschal's office, she ordered, "Bind him."

"What? Hang on!" Merran stepped between on front of Jowan, holding out her hands. "No. As the Seneschal said, you can't…" She had a brief glimpse of Varel behind them, being restrained by another Templar. He was saying something; his mouth opening and closing…shouting? But she couldn't hear anything. Sharp pain coursed through her entire body - and then her mind went completely white, her last trailing thought being that they hadn't even had the decency to remove their helms…


	22. Forest for the Trees

-oo-

**Chapter 22 – Forest for the Trees**

"Whoa! Look at the size of her!" Anders stood at the edge of the platform, causing the entire structure to wobble precariously. A wicked grin quirked his perpetually smiling mouth and he stepped out a little further, bouncing up and down. "Ooh, feels like we're on a ship!"

A gauntleted hand reached out, grabbed the back of his robes and dragged him backwards.

"There's always one in every crowd, ain't there?" Oghren commented with a scowl – annoyed that he'd been beaten to making the rickety platform wobble himself.

"Well, the view's incredible," Anders continued, unperturbed by the Dwarf's expression. Making sure he was out of grabbing range by the Warden Commander, he spread his arms out wide. "Impressive!" he announced. "We should send the others a postcard: 'Hi! Just arrived at large, overcompensating Dwarven ruins. Wish you were here!' Now…we just have to find that souvenir shop…"

Marduk sidled up to the red-haired Dwarf. Keeping his gaze firmly on the very strange, stubbled Mage, he asked, "Are all Surfacers so touched?"

"Ach," Oghren spat. "We just got lucky with this one."

"Anyway," Alistair drawled, resisting the urge to push Anders off the edge of the viewing platform. "Any idea where we are, Marduk?"

Marduk pointed towards the valley. "Oh, _this_ place?"

Once, all of this would have been underground. By the fall of the buildings, there had been an earthquake some time ago, causing the ceilings to partially collapse and the ground to rise or sink in some places. What could be seen now only hinted at what was buried under the rockfalls or lay beneath the visible layers of the great city. But geological vandalism had not removed completely the scale or grandeur of the place. Marduk had only heard stories of this place. He never thought he would ever see it with his own eyes. Far below them was the statue of the Paragon Hirol. It stood guard at the entrance to the valley, slightly at an angle, as though slightly drunk. It reminded him a bit of the other Dwarf currently travelling in their party.

"There was once a great city built by the Paragon Hirol," Marduk told the Commander. "A centre of learning for the Smithing Craft. Some of the greatest minds in Dwarven history came here to learn and share the secrets of their craft; until the place was lost to time and the stone." Despite his intention to dislike the Commander, Marduk couldn't help an excited grin. "Kal'Hirol," he said reverently. "Every Smith dreams of finding this place…well, I'll have to have a proper look around the place to make sure but…" If he could, it would mean that his House would gain huge prestige…but of course, he no longer had a house...He was a Surfacer and a Grey Warden now.

He looked up at the sky; pale blue and streaked with cloud, no longer afraid of falling into it. _Merran's sky,_ he thought; which is why he'd made such an effort to overcome his inbuilt Dwarven fear of the open sky. He'd stared up for into it for a few minutes every day until he no longer felt the impossibly deep space sucking him upwards.

"So does this mean we're going to get the guided tour?" Anders wry voice broke into his thoughts. As one, the party members turned to the Mage in varying concentrations of irritation and exasperation. "What?" he asked, attempting to look innocent – and failing. Badly. "I just needed to know whether I need to provide a tip at the end."

"Let's just get going," Alistair told them, walking off the viewing platform. "Marduk, do you think you can find your way back to that entrance?"

"We came through a forest," the Dwarf said, craning his neck as the group descended down the even less stable wooden stairs. He could see the tops of trees to the left of the valley. Once they were in the ruins, he was sure he could find the stone door that had led them out of the underground chambers. "I remember it was near what looked like the main entrance to…something," he said, wishing he had had time to look around a little. But back then, they had been so eager to leave the area, he hadn't even thought about it.

"Well," the Commander said, touching his shoulder briefly – the man had to stoop to do so – he was so damned, unnaturally tall…"If you're willing, lead the way."

Marduk nodded, not trusting himself to speak. _I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, _he recited in his head, but as Marduk was too innately good-natured, they were just words in his head. Unless the Grey Warden Commander killed an entire pen of kittens in front of a group of small children or showed a liking for robbing old people and poking them with their walking sticks while he laughed at them, it was going to be difficult…to _not _like the man.

-oo-

Jowan was the first to awaken. From the ache in his shoulders and the dull feeling in his feet, it felt as though he'd been hog-tied. The world was moving, the odd jolt and shake indicating he was on the back of a farmer's cart. Opening his eyes cautiously, he saw Merran not too far away, similarly trussed. The left side of her face bore an impressive bruise and her borrowed robes were torn. Under any other circumstances, the two of them would have never been mistaken for Mages. It had been years since either of them had worn their official Circle robes – and it wasn't unusual for men to walk about in _public _with their sleeves rolled up as he had done.

It had been pure coincidence Merran wore those robes today…was it still today? He was reluctant to move too much, lest he draw attention to himself. He'd dearly love to send a healing spell towards her, but that would have drawn too much attention from the Templars.

A couple of minutes later, Merran's eyes flickered open, blinking furiously. He saw her wince, then tilt her head upwards the tiniest bit. Her eyes widened at him, mouthing _holy smite…? _He crossed her eyes at her and she grinned – then winced again.

"Ser Rylock," a voice spoke nearby, "the Apostates have awoken."

"Hmph." The female Templar's weathered features swam into view, eyeing Jowan with undisguised contempt. "We should reach our first stop soon," she said. "There won't be any…" The rest of her sentence was lost in a loud, ominous cracking sound. The farmer's cart lurched to the side, the two Mages dangerously close to being tipped out. One of the ponies reared, neighing in sudden terror. The cart gave another lurch and tipped over completely as both ponies attempted to escape their harnesses. Two of the Templars went towards the terrified animals as Ser Rylock screamed, "Dark-" her voice cut off with a wet gurgle and the sound of metal shearing through flesh. With the cart overturned on top of them, Jowan could only guess what was happening outside.

The two of them could hear the Templars shouting and the Darkspawn grunting – and then a strange thumping sound as though the ground had come alive. Blood spurted through the broken gaps of the overturned cart. Any minute now, the Darkspawn would lift up the broken tray and find them...but…eerie silence fell. Excepting for the sound of the wind through the trees, there was no other noise. Something creaked loudly above them; it was like the sound of a great wooden trebuchet being wound. The cart was lifted off them – sunlight appeared once more – but they could see no one around.

No one alive anyway.

The bodies of the Templars lay strewn about the dusty road. Merran was already twisting about, slipping her tied hands around her bottom, so she could pull her feet through the arc of her arms. Jowan watched her, fascinated. He didn't know she could do that…

With her hands in front of her, she scooted to the nearest Templar body, searching his body for a knife or dagger. A shadow fell over them and a voice warned in a growl, "_Bleeping_ _Shemlen…! _Stay where I can see you. I warn you – I will not hesitate to _bleeping _kill you with my tree."

Startled by this announcement, Jowan _turned _and was immediately set upon by something twiggy and sharp. He tried to cover his head, but of course his hands were tied up and his only course of protection was to roll up into a protective ball, while whatever it was that she had set upon him attacked.

"I warned you did I _bleeping _not, invader?" she screeched in triumph. "Usurper! _Bleep! _Defiler of land! Stealer of _bleeping _small garden-dwelling fowl!" The stranger and her creature continued her verbal and physical assault until Merran whipped her head up and _paralysed _them both. Only then did Jowan rise, to come face to face with a…face. Except it was a face in a tree – a very _small tree_; barely a sapling; a shrubbery perhaps…no, it wasn't bushy enough to be a shrubbery. It had twiggy legs and branching arms and it was glaring at him.

Merran found a knife and sliced through Jowan's bindings. After Jowan returned the favour, the two Mages assessed the paralysed…Elf and sapling.

"You know," Jowan said, rubbing the circulation back into his hands properly. "There was this Tevinter Mage in the Denerim markets who sold something like this." He pointed to the two-legged tree. "Tiny trees; shrunk down and planted in small flat flower pots. They looked like real, big trees, except some of them were barely a foot high." Pocketing the knife, he stood up. "I think he called it 'origami'"

"Wow…" Merran breathed. "I'd _love _to have one of those…except I have such a brown thumb it would be dead within a week."

At her knee, the tiny sapling looked worried, its keeper; a rather scantily clad blonde Elf that put her in mind of a certain acid-tongued marsh witch, increased the intensity of her glare.

"We can't stay here, Jowan," Merran told him. "Not with Darkspawn about. Look at what they did to these poor Templars…"

"They Holy Smote us and tied us up!" Jowan reminded her.

"Alistair used to Holy Smite us all the time," she pointed out. "You didn't complain."

"Alistair Holy Smote us out of affection," Jowan argued. "Anyway, what do we do with Elf and Twiggy here?" he asked with some trepidation. "Much as I would like to, we can't very well leave them frozen in the middle of…" He looked around. There had once been forest here, but now there were only blackened stumps in amongst short, struggling thorn bushes and patches of greyish, leafy things that he could hardly call 'greenery'. Here and there, especially in the lower areas, were patches of crystallised salt. The land was not in a good way. Nor did he recognise any of it.

"Where are we anyway?"

"You've been in the area longer than I have," Merran made a face at him. "I was hoping you knew where we were."

Jowan shrugged. "I don't think they were taking us to Amaranthine and we seem a bit too far south for Denerim." He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the Elf. "Maybe we can ask her?" Jowan walked up to her, peering down – which was a mistake, because he ended up looking down into the Elf's décolletage. It was a bit like staring down into a bottomless canyon. His head spinning with vertigo, Jowan took a step backwards, shaking his head in an attempt to dispel the dizziness. Actually, now that he was able to take a closer look at her, she put him in mind of those prints Alistair had foisted onto him in Denerim – at great cost. They too were…

A hand clapped over his eyes. "Stop ogling, you leching lech," Merran admonished him.

She shook a finger at the Elf. "If I release you," she said. "Will you promise not to attack us with your tree?"

The Elf made a furious movement with her eyes that told them most affirmatively _no._

"Look," Merran reasoned. "Neither my friend or I are armed…"

"Well I am – with that knife you just scavenged off that Templar's cold, dead body."

"Except for the very blunt knife that my friend is keeping tucked away safely," Merran amended hastily. "Because it's very rude to point sharp implements at polite company."

"And while I'm at it," Jowan added dryly. "Shall I pour tea and serve the cucumber sandwiches?"

Ignoring him, Merran continued calmly. "Life would be so much easier if we just all sat around and _talked, _don't you think? Constructive dialogue. All right?"

The Elf blinked slowly. Once. "Right, now…" Merran released the spell and immediately the Elf's hands glowed electric blue.

She screeched. "Sic 'em Sylvie! Kill the _bleeping bleepers!_"

The little sapling immediately pounced on Jowan, knocking him backwards; little branchlets and woody legs tearing and scratching at him as he yelled desperately, "Yargh! Gerrit off me!"

Merran sighed and paralysed them both again. Unfortunately as Jowan was within range, her paralysis spell hit him too.

"Right," she said, hands on hips. "Let's try this again, shall we?"

-oo-

He'd definitely have to come back, if he couldn't find anything to prove this was _the _Kal'Hirol…A plaque or a sign; maybe some documents, if he was lucky enough. If he was even luckier, he would find the place where the Paragon himself lived and find something that belonged to the Smith of Smiths.

Their group passed under the great triangular arches of what was once an impressively looming stone avenue. There were abandoned houses after that, alongside a surprisingly clear stream. The ground around the residential area looked as though some mighty beast had taken up great chunks of the ground and forced them upwards. They picked their way through carefully; the floor still unstable, heading deeper underground. Marduk raised his hand to some worn inscriptions on a wall, startling when the Warden Commander came up behind him.

"See anything familiar?"

Marduk looked up at the Commander. And kept looking up. Was the man looming over him on purpose?

Alistair touched the inscriptions Marduk had been examining. "I don't know a lot of Dwarven," he frowned, "but this is…" His frown deepened. "It looks like…it reads: _Damylan has a big…_Oh dear…"

"I'm afraid so."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised…" Alistair's eyes strayed to the red-haired Dwarf, trying not to nod off against a collapsed pillar. Alistair grinned at the younger, beardless Dwarf – he rather liked Marduk. Quite apart from the fact that the lad had kept Merran safe on their journey from the Deep Roads, he seemed a reliable, hard-working, sensible young man. It was quite refreshing from the…other one, even if he kept scowling at him, for no reason that he could divine. Maybe it was just a Dwarf thing; the angry, 'I'll stick an axe through your head' attitude that all Dwarves seemed to have. Even King Harrowmont had it to some extent. And of course Prince Bhelen and Kardol had more than their fair share.

And yet, there were still Dwarves like that ex-Smith caste girl Merran had sponsored to the Tower of Magi - and young Rose; who was sunshine on two legs…

Shaking his head, Alistair straightened, just as the familiar twinge at the back of his neck signalled "Darkspawn!"

They all drew their weapons, barely needing Kristoff's warning shout. It was just a small group; a scouting party, dragging a sack…until Alistair got closer and saw it was not a sack at all, but a young Dwarf. She was putting up a fight, kicking her armoured legs and still swinging the remains of a battleaxe until Alistair sliced the Hurlock in two. Arrows glanced harmlessly off his right pauldron; another grazed his cheek as he rushed the two Genlock archers standing a short distance away.

"Commander!" he heard Kristoff yell. "They've got an Emissary!"

Dispatching the archers, he turned. "Where?" The force of a lightning spell hit him full in the chest, knocking him sprawling backwards, head over heels. Another lightning spell hit him again, a second before he located the Emissary, barely draining it of its magic in time. An arrow through its head from Nathaniel's longbow finished it off. But that was it; that was the last of them…for now.

Alistair reached the young Dwarf before Anders did. It was indeed a she, the brand of the casteless burned into her right cheek below a pair of startlingly blue eyes.

She struggled to stand; Alistair placing his hand on her shoulder. "We have a healer," he told her.

She looked up at him, eyes widening as she caught sight of the emblem on his chestplate.

"Hey! You're a Grey Warden!" she exclaimed. "Neat!"

Anders knelt beside Alistair, glowing hands held over the Dwarf's half-prone body. "You've some broken rib bones there, young lady," Anders told her. "And by the way, I'm Anders – at your service – just in case you're wondering."

"I wasn't," she said, with a roll of her eye. "But I appreciate the gesture." She smiled up at Alistair. "I'm Sigrun, Legion of the Dead and I'm mighty glad you guys came along. Now…" She tried rising to her feet again – stopped this time by Anders. "Just give me a moment," she told them. "And I'll be off."

"Or, you know," Marduk's voice came from behind one of Alistair's legs. "You can travel with us."

Sigrun craned her neck to try and locate the speaker – and found she couldn't. She found a gauntleted hand presented to her. "Well, the more the merrier," Alistair told her. She considered his hand a couple of seconds more, then with a sunny smile, placed her own hand in his. Alistair pulled her gently to her feet – it hadn't been much of a distance. When he attempted to retrieve his hand, he found it being inspected closely by the young female Dwarf. After a short while she looked up at him and said, "Has anyone ever told you have really big hands?"

-oo-


	23. Empty Room

Yes…I _know _I'm supposed to be doing other stuff in the universe that _doesn't _revolve around the Warden Commander and a certain nutcase Mage…I'm doing it now – honest! Just needed to jot down a 'few' lines to maintain sanity…relatively speaking.

Urgh…now if only RL stuff would flow as well as throwing a few slightly amusing words onto a page…

-oo-

**Chapter 23 – Empty Room**

"I hate you…"

Jowan sighed. He'd lost count of the times the Elf had growled those three words at him. Despite the two of them agreeing to help Velanna – and that also despite knowing Merran was anxious to return to the Keep as soon as possible – she still took every opportunity to glare at him; her delinquent tree trudging sullenly beside her.

"I hate you…" she muttered at him again. "I _bleeping _hate you, Shem…"

And why _him_ anyway? She had made it known that she resented both of them, but the bulk of her ire was directed solely at him.

"I hate…"

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks. I already heard it. You hate me. It is now a well-established, publicly-known fact. Velanna hates Jowan, nyah, nyah, nyah…:"

"Childish, _bleeping _Shemlen _churl…_"

"Ooh, she does know other words! I didn't see that coming…!"

"Jowan," Merran tugged on his sleeve. "That isn't helping. Stop encouraging her."

"I'm not…!" Jowan turned a look of outrage on his fellow Mage. "Besides, she started it!"

"Well, don't make me end it," Merran warned him. She threw another warning glance at the Elf, "and that includes you. You're not helping matters by being rude and antagonistic. We've agreed to help you find your sister and get to the bottom of this. Personally, I'd rather be at home with my dog and my little boy and the biggest toasted cheesie this side of the Frostback Mountains, but we can't all have what we want, so let's just…nrgrrr…!"

She balled her hands into fists and waved it at the sky as it had started to rain; big, fat droplets that felt like melted ice blocks from the sky. It turned so quickly into a heavy downpour that the four of them had little chance to find shelter before they were all soaked to the skin – or in the case of Sylvie – bark.

They pelted up the next hill, fighting against sliding mud and chunks of landscape dislodged by the heavy rain. Through the grey wall of water, they could make out the dim shape of a stone structure ahead. If they were ruins of some kind, there might be something they could shelter under. It turned out to be the entry to an old mine. Sylvie was almost swept off the wooden bridge as they crossed the fast rising stream to get to the other side. She was saved by Jowan who managed to snatch at a couple of branches and haul the panicked sapling back onto the bridge.

"Needs a key!" Merran yelled to Jowan, wiping her arm across her face. Jowan had them stand back so he could blast the padlock off the door; the four of them crowding inside once they'd pushed the heavy metal doors open.

"Oh, I really miss being able to do that," Merran sighed longingly, trying not to shiver. It was cold and clammy inside and the place reeked of old machine oil, dead animal and…"Poopie." She placed her hand on Jowan's arm. "I can smell them in here, can you? But I can't feel them…"

"Feel what, Shem?" Velanna snapped loudly – the two Mages hastily shushing her.

"Darkspawn," Jowan whispered, feeling something twiggy tremble against his leg. He _hoped _the sapling wasn't doing what he _thought _it was doing…"I can't feel them either, but they've definitely been here. Look, over there." He indicated a two-pronged lump on the other side. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they could make out the unmistakeable window dressing that Darkspawn brought with them everywhere. Where they managed to find so many tusks to make into stylised Archdemon wings was anyone's guess.

"Well, we can stay here, until the rain stops." Merran's teeth chattered in the eerie silence. Silent except for a soft swishing sound near Jowan's right foot – and then the wind sucked the doors shut, plunging them all into complete darkness. "I suppose…" she added doubtfully.

Jowan grimaced in distaste. He shot a tiny flash of fire downwards; the brief spark of light confirming his suspicions.

"Elf."

"What!"

"Can you please tell your tree to stop humping my leg…?"

"_Shh_…"

"What?"

"Who said that?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Yes you did. I just heard you."

"Can I have some help here? This sapling is starting to wear through my trouser leg…"

"_Sleep…_"

"There it is again."

"I said _bleeping_ nothing!"

"Well it didn't sound like a girl's voice, that's true."

"This is really embarrassing, you know…It's actually starting to _hurt._"

"_Sleep…little ones…"_

"Well, that was a bit patronising. Was that _you_ Jowan?"

"What, me? No. I just want this twiggy thing off my bleeping leg!"

"He's being friendly! There's no need to be _bleeping _rude!"

"I just want to know who belongs to that disembodied, creepy voice – are you_ sure _it's not you playing silly buggers, Jowan?"

"_Look…what is wrong with you people? Just go to sleep already!"_ the voice said peevishly, before a dark woolliness clouded their minds; the last thing any of them remembered hearing before deep sleep claimed them was the disembodied, creepy voice muttering creepily; _and I do not have a creepy voice…_

-oo-

"Oi! Tall and Handsome!" Freshly healed, Sigrun called cheerfully after the Warden Commander. He turned, watching the heavily armed and armoured Legion of the Dead Dwarf skip towards him. He was glad Merran hadn't accompanied them. Quite apart from the danger factor, Sigrun was the sort of soldier that would have his pint-sized Mage reaching for an adoption application…Almost half a head shorter than Oghren and Marduk, with her dark hair tied in pigtails and a collection of interesting tattoos splashed across her pale features, she barely stood above the top of his belt buckle – a fact Oghren was sure to comment upon later, he was sure – especially if she was going to continue addressing him as 'Tall and Handsome'.

The fact that she referred to Nathaniel as 'Tall and Brooding' and Kristoff as 'Tall and Grim' did not help particularly.

Sigrun fell into step beside him, Nathaniel startling at her like a very proper lady discovering a poisonous spider on her arm. He blinked in incomprehension at the skipping Legionnaire, completely lost for words.

"So; you're looking for the big bad broodmothers, huh?" she asked in a voice that belied her appearance. It was almost…_sultry…_

"Not so much in the plural," Alistair informed her.

"Yeah…" she mused. "The Darkspawn have changed. They've become…smart now. We got sent down here to find out what's been going on. We…" Her head drooped slightly and the skip went out of her step. "We were overwhelmed. My entire squad was wiped out – I'm the only one left…"

"And they're breeding an army down here," Marduk added, feeling the need to draw attention away from an obviously still-grieving Legionnaire. "I've never heard or seen of more than one broodmother in one 'nest' before."

"And there are the 'children'," Sigrun added. Her frown drawing her tattoos together made her look as though she had a pair of wings painted across her forehead. "A new type of Darkspawn with a voracious appetite that spits acid at their victims and then sucks them dry..."

"Oh, how charming," Anders' sarcastic voice echoed from the back of the group. "Spitting _and _sucking. What _will _they come up with next; bad body odour and halitosis attacks? Oh, wait…"

"It's like Darkspawn taking up agriculture…" Oghren aimed a gob of saliva at a Crawler hatchling on the wall, missing it by mere millimetres. "It ain't natural." He eyed the chatty mage beside him with growing resentment, thinking there was only enough room in the team for _one _smart mouth. Before Chatty came along, that position had been filled quite nicely, thank you. He was even beginning to miss old Mopey…at least _he _kept his mouth shut.

Most of the time.

"Interesting concept," Sigrun nodded sagely. "Except I wonder what they're breeding them _for_…apart from the obvious reason, of course."

"A concern to be sure," Kristoff said. He and Alistair exchanged their 'Blight-experienced Warden look'. "Especially when considering the possibility Grey Wardens have been _captured _by one of these groups of Darkspawn_._"

_For what reason…_Alistair wondered grimly. His mind strayed back to Soldiers Peak and the experiments on Grey Wardens Avernus had been allowed – no _encouraged _– to perform. The Keep's survivors' reports of Wardens being bound and dragged back to underground Darkspawn lairs had him wondering whether there might be 'another' Avernus. A Darkspawn one…

"We're here." Marduk said suddenly. The ex-Legionnaire jogged a little ahead of the group. Tucked away behind a half-broken buttress was the exit he and Merran had used to escape the underground tunnels. Sigrun peered over his shoulder. She gave an unladylike snort of surprise.

"At the foot of the fortress too," she said. "Handy."

"Fortress?" Marduk inquired.

"Kal'Hirol, of course," she shrugged nonchalantly. "Smith legend. Home of the Paragon...all that."

"And you found proof?" Marduk asked eagerly, thinking she may have found the evidence he'd been hoping for when they had first looked down into the valley. "Have the Shapers been advised? What did they say? If an expedition could be sent here, just think what could be discovered! The lost works of the Paragon Hirol and his apprentices!"

"Uh-huh." Sigrun swept a gaze over the other Dwarf; from his neatly shorn caramel blonde hair to his eager, hazel eyes, down his hairless chin to the burnished surface of his Legion of the Dead armour. "I'm guessing…ex-Smith caste…"

Marduk's eyes flipped automatically to the brand on her cheek, denoting her casteless origin. He immediately looked away, but it was too late. She had seen where his eyes rested and her lip curled as one eyebrow rose sardonically on her tattooed forehead. Marduk felt his cheeks redden, his embarrassment made worse by Oghren barging in between the two of them, snickering.

"Ah, break it up lovenugs…"

"'Lovenugs'," Sigrun repeated. "And here I was thinking Mr Chatty over there was the only funny one in this group."

Anders' eyes brightened hearing Sigrun's comment. He flipped her the charming-est smile he could muster, "Oh, you think I'm funny do you?" he asked.

"No."

"I'm sorry, Marduk," Alistair touched the young Dwarf's shoulder briefly. "I know how important this is to you, but the Darkspawn come first." Squeezing past the footing of the buttress, he peered down the darkened tunnel, then up at the main doors to the fortress. Risking another smart Alec comment from Oghren, Alistair suggested, "Let's head in the back way…"

Shale had really done some damage inside, making the once too-small spaces big enough for her to pass through. In a way, it was a pity Shale had not been able to accompany them into the Deep Roads. Her large presence was reassuring, along with her ability to convert Darkspawn into bloody paste in very short order. She and the Senior Enchanter had left for Amaranthine the day before, accompanied by Zevran and Leliana. On the other hand, between Anders and Oghren, he'd had enough joking and japery to last him for most of the rest of his life. He probably didn't need Shale's sarcasm wearing away at his parchment-thin patience along with the other two.

"Eww…There are these icky cocoon things everywhere," Anders complained. "Do you think they're…occupied?"

"When we came through here last," Marduk assured him, "they were empty – there were some dead creatures in the courtyard topside, but that was it…Ah, Warden Commander? Down here…" In an attempt to escape Anders' voice, Alistair had walked ahead. He'd squeezed through a collapsed entry way into what looked like a lyrium forge – and now he was _definitely _glad Merran hadn't come – half-made weapons and tools lay around as though the occupants of the room had had to leave very quickly. Lying exposed in a wheelbarrow was a pile of raw lyrium ore and everywhere he looked, there was glowing blue lyrium dust.

"Oh…phew…" Anders swayed on his feet. He covered his nose and mouth with his hands. "Wow…never been this close to this much raw lyrium before…" he said, his voice slurring. He turned to Marduk. "How do you put up with it? I just want to spew the entire contents of my lower intestine...Is that right? I don't now…Did you know this stuff _kills _Mages?"

"We become mostly immune," Marduk said, frowning at Anders. Lyrium veins ran all through the Deep Roads, along with piles of discarded dust and gravel that had been too much trouble to process. It was this dust that Marduk collected for his exploding balls – though since meeting Dwornik Glavonak at the Keep, he'd become a little fussier about the purity of the lyrium he used for his mixtures. He was baffled. He couldn't recall Merran being bothered by the lyrium in their travels…

"But even Dwarves," he told them, turning the thought over in his mind as he spoke, "well, it's not a good idea to get it into our blood stream – or breathe too much of it."

"Yeah…" Sigrun added. "You can tell when a Dwarf is lyrium-addled. You could ask them what day of the week it is and they'll tell you it's lichen."

"You have a day of the week called Lichen?" Anders asked innocently.

Sigrun and Marduk rolled their eyes at each other. Sigrun had been about to retort when the Warden Commander approached them.

"Let's have another look at that map." He held out his hand for the plan of the tunnels Marduk had drawn from memory. Maps weren't Marduk's forte, so they were crude at best, but Alistair, taking a piece of charcoal from his belt pouch, began marking off the places they had already been. He made a notation for the forge, then shooed everyone back outside. Looking back over his shoulder at the abandoned workroom, he shook his head, sighing. This was going to take some time; time that they did not have. And yet, much as he wanted to rush through Kal'Hirol and return to the Keep, he knew he couldn't afford to.

He had his doubts whether he was likely to find what they were looking for here. Instinct told him that with the demise of the broodmothers the Darkspawn had abandoned the place. All they were likely to find were empty rooms and skeletons.

-oo-


	24. Alliance

Yay! I'm still (relatively) sane and making good progress on the RL stuff…so I thought I'd share some stress relief with you.

Thank you to all the fabulous people who have reviewed thus far. I know you're all busy so it feels extra special that you're taking the time out of your busy lives to send through your comments and thoughts. Merran's making an extra big batch of virtual currant cookies for all of you.

-oo-

**Chapter 24 – Alliance**

Robert Varel prided himself on his ability to stay calm under any situation. During his tenure as Seneschal to the previous Arl, he had maintained an unwavering stoicism – serving the people of the Arling _first._ Protecting them where he could, speaking out for them where they couldn't. Through it all he'd managed to keep his head. Even if, under the previous Arl, he had almost (literally) lost it. While he had been imprisoned, his body beaten, his iron hold on his emotions had remained intact, though there were times through it all when he had come close to losing that control. Today was another such time. He was angry; beyond angry – and he was unafraid to show just how angry he was.

Hands clasped behind his back, he paced the length of his office as the Keep's Guard Captain relayed the information obtained from the Denerim Chantry.

Watching his superior burn angry trails across the rug, Captain Garavel suggested, "Should we send out a search party for the Warden Commander, Ser?"

Varel stopped pacing briefly, lips drawn into a thin line across his craggy face. "To what purpose, Captain? We have no idea where the Commander might be. A scouting party may take days to locate the Commander or not find him at all. In the meantime, Warden Merran may have been taken to Maker knows where."

"I understand the Commander once trained as a Templar…" Garavel did not complete the sentence. It had definitely sounded better in his head – and once he had begun to say it and heard how foolish the notion sounded, he lost the gist of what he had been about to say.

Varel allowed himself a growl of discontent. "Rogue Templars…" He raised his head and pinned the Captain with an angry stare. "And you say the Revered Mother in Amaranthine had no idea?"

"No Seneschal," Garavel replied. "The Knight Commander of Amaranthine was also unaware a detachment of Templars had been sent to apprehend the apostate."

"Not an apostate," Varel reminded him. "A Grey Warden. The Warden Commander saw fit to recruit Anders himself. Taking away two _other _Mages as consolation – and _Wardens _of longstanding too…"

"Do you think Ser Rylock knew they had taken the Hero of Ferelden?" Garavel asked cautiously.

Varel's silver eyebrows drew down at that. "For her sake, I hope to the Maker not, Captain Garavel." He didn't want to even _begin _to think what might happen to Warden Merran if and when Ser Rylock realised who her charges were. An un-Harrowed, escaped apprentice from the Tower of Magi and a Mage that had reportedly died at the end of the Blight…He shook his head at the mess they'd found themselves in.

"And you tell me the Templars were taking them south?" he asked Garavel - _and why not to Denerim?_

"It is my…opinion Seneschal, that the Templars may have been taking them outside the jurisdiction of the Arling…"

"Hardly relevant," Varel's frown deepened. "Templars have jurisdiction wherever they go in Ferelden…It matters not – if south they went, that would mean heading through the Wending Wood." Should he send troops? Could he send troops? It would certainly make Mistress Woolsey happy to finally have her bandit issue in the area addressed…But Captain Garavel's troops were few and the numbers of Darkspawn in the area were not known. He may simply be sending soldiers to their deaths. On the other hand, he could not stand by and do nothing.

And yet…interfering in Chantry business…even if that business appeared to be somewhat questionable could land him and the Arling in a lot of hot water…

"Your orders, Seneschal?" Garavel asked.

Varel stared at the rug at his feet, flexing his hands at his back. "Gather your men, Captain," Varel told him. "Send a detail down the south road to find those _Templars_." Hot water or not, no one…_no one _messed with one of _his _people and got away with it…

-oo-

Alistair stowed the map along with the stub of charcoal into his belt pouch, running his eye over his Wardens. He shook his head at the three Dwarves, alternatively arguing amongst each other and teasing the Mage. He couldn't blame them – Marduk had _insisted _on salvaging as many hacked-off bits of Golem shell that he could haul behind him – a highly impractical and yet practical task. While bulky, it was still rare material and Master Wade had been hinting none too subtly about sourcing interesting materials to make into 'works of art'…as if the Warden Commander and new Arl of Amaranthine had nothing better to do but look for such things…But the Dwarf was making a gallant attempt at bringing what he could back to the Keep, the thing rattling noisily behind them as it was dragged along the bumpy dirt road. As for Anders…

Yeah. _That _was funny. No matter how you looked at it, Anders being caught unawares by a fire golem because he'd been trying to chat up Sigrun - _again_ - and having half his hair burned off was funny. Funny, because it hadn't happened to _him_ for being inattentive_…_and funny because someone that obsessed with his appearance probably needed a bit of a makeover.

And again…because that little lesson about vanity hadn't happened to _him_ either_. _Hilarious.

As he expected – they hadn't found anything – and that disappointed him. Oh, they'd found where the _nest _had been. They couldn't have mistaken that. They'd smelled it a hundred metres before they'd come upon the room that overlooked the broodmothers. His lip curled in memory. He doubted he'd ever get the smell out. But he'd just known that there was little that could be found in the old ruins and after conferring with Kristoff, had turned their group back and headed home.

_Home…_it was odd thinking of something that you didn't have to carry on your back all day as 'home'. He'd stayed at the old Wardens Compound in Denerim for months, but it had been only a place to sit around in until he could figure out what he wanted to do next. He remembered talking with Leliana once, a long time ago about how they wouldn't always be travelling; that one day they'd have to think about just staying in one place and rebuilding the Grey Wardens again…Of course, back then he'd not known about the sacrifice the Wardens would have to make in order for anyone to ever have a home again. Nor had he ever entertained any _real _thoughts of ever having a _real _home with Merran…There had never been any point. But now…Was there any point now, either?

"Commander…"

Alistair hadn't realised Kristoff had been walking beside him until the man had spoken in his quiet voice; or that they were within view of the Keep.

"Oh, thank the Maker…" Anders interrupted with a loud sigh. "I don't know about you fellows, but that is a welcome sight."

"Nearest barber's in Amaranthine," Oghren nudged the Mage. "Still plenty of light if you want to keep walking."

"I am not going out in public like this…" Anders said with a small look of outrage. "I wonder if Merran knows a handy spell for growing back hair. I know Wynne did."

Oghren guffawed. He waggled his finger at the Mage. "You want Merran-Mage to grow back your hair? Yeah! I'd like to see that! You shoulda seen her once in the Frostbacks – hair coming out of her…"

"Does it seem a little too quiet here?" Kristoff gave up and interrupted himself. Alistair nodded. He'd been thinking the same thing apart from…other stuff. There should have been more of Garavel's men about. It wasn't until they'd reached the Keep's main entrance that they began to get an inkling why. Corporal Maberlies was on duty – the look of pure relief on the girl's face would have been comical if he hadn't started to feel a growing disquiet.

"What's going on?" Alistair asked her.

"Oh! Warden Commander, the Seneschal's been hoping you'd come back in time," Maberlies told him, hand to her chest.

"In time for what?" he snapped.

"Especially since we expected the Captain and his men to have returned by now…" she added nervously, her voice trailing away at the Commander's expression.

"Garavel…" Alistair glared at the Corporal while he attempted to marshal his patience. "Where _is _the Captain?"

"He went after the Templars, Ser."

"And _why_," Alistair enunciated slowly and carefully, "would Captain Garavel be chasing Templars?"

"Because the bastards illegally took two of my Wardens," a gravely, irritated voice growled behind the blanching Corporal. Varel stalked down the rest of the steps to their group. "I beg your pardon," he added, "I mean _your _Wardens, Commander."

_Nug…crap…_Alistair lifted his hand to his temple. There were only two Wardens left at the Keep…and they were taken away by Templars. Harmless really, until he thought about _who _those Wardens were.

"We did try to stop them, Warden Commander," Varel added. His eyes rested on the singed Mage trying to look innocuous at the back of the group. "They'd come to arrest an apostate."

"Bugger," Anders looked only slightly embarrassed. "That would be me, I suppose. Do you think they found out about those dead Templars?"

Alistair turned to glare at Anders. Shearing off the rest of the Mage's hair with his sword would probably be a bit of overkill…and besides, he might – accidentally – miss and hit something else…like an ear…or a neck…

He sighed instead. So much for Merran being safe at the Keep…

"Lead on Varel," he said grimly. "Let's hear what you know…"

-oo-

"_You're no good to me …"_

Merran's hand automatically went to her arm. It still ached where he'd pierced the skin to remove blood and had been bound in bandages that were none too clean. Not only had he done it without her permission, but he'd done it willy nilly with no thought to accepted Circle standards of hygiene. Had whatever he'd used on her been sterilised? Was she going to develop some nasty Darkspawn infection that would turn her skin green with purple pustules? If what he had used on her was anything like these bandages…

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she asked with a scowl.

"_You are…an anomaly…" _His face was like a mask; carved out of flesh and as humanlike as a Darkspawn could get, but it was as if whoever made him had not bothered to put working muscles in his face; or eyes for that matter – and he didn't walk. He _floated _everywhere, like one of those silk balloons you sometimes got at village fairs filled with marsh gas…She'd tried to peer under his robes to find out whether he actually had feet, but his robe was so long, she couldn't quite see and then the…his _assistant _had pointed her battle axe at her because she'd gotten too close.

"_There are unlikely to be more of you in this world." _He added cryptically. "_There would be no point._"

Merran rolled her eyes. "Look, it's really great that you think I'm useless and everything, but I'd like to find out where my friends are and just…go."

"_No. The male I intend to keep. He has survived much longer than the others…"_

_Should I even ask…?_ Merran made a face at him – the assistant growled menacingly at her again. Merran skirted around the ghoulish creature to better face the tall talking Darkspawn. _Yeah…if you don't ask…_"Others? You mean the other Grey Wardens?" she asked, "Did you _steal _the Orlesian Wardens for your weird, twisted experiments?"

"_They did not lose their lives in vain," _the Darkspawn intoned smoothly. _"They have contributed to a higher cause." _

"I suppose by 'higher cause' you don't mean altitudinally…?" Merran enquired, pointedly looking at the space below his floating frame.

"_I do not seek to rule over my brethren…" _He spoke as though she had not even asked the question. "_But to free them from the chains they have for so long been bound by …"_

"Yeah…you know what? We've been through this before so let's just move…"

"_I seek to release them from yoke of their burdens; to free them from the Call of the Song…To make their minds their own…"_

"Did you check with them first?" Merran asked. "You know; a bit of common courtesy goes an awfully long way."

He glared down at her – or at least Merran imagined he glared. It was hard to tell under that immobile visage. In a way he was actually quite beautiful in a crazy artist high on lyrium sculpting after an all night binge on bad Dwarven ale way…and if she squinted a little so that he was in soft focus. Also if he didn't sound disapproving all the time – and maybe changed his robes to something that didn't smell like it had been dunked through the overflow of a piggery…oh and urgh! Maker's breath! The creature's breath was _foul…_It was like constantly walking downwind of someone's privy after too much Nevarran spicy stew…

"_You do not understand…How can you? You can no longer feel the suffering of my brethren…You are like…Her._"

Her curiosity was piqued. "Her?" Merran asked, manoeuvring away from the edge of the battle axe again.

"_The Mother…my most flawed creation…"_

"_OH…_The Mother…" Oh…poopie. As casually as she could Merran asked, "And The Mother is…?"

"_My most flawed creation…were you not listening? Must I monologue?"_

"No, no," Merran waved her hand at him. "Not at all – no monologuing. Monologuing usually leads to…well I won't go into that. I was just hoping you'd _elaborate_. You know. Details! I want to hear details! Were the two of you involved? Was it a messy breakup? Who gets the best sofa…Custody of the children…?" _Coordinates so the Wardens can send an army down there to whip her arses…_

"_You are very strange…What is this 'involvement' you speak of?"_

"Well you know…Darkspawn love…?" Her stomach turned at the thought of it. "Romantic stro…hovering under the stars – I mean by a river of lava…Or you know, you can tell me what she plans to do with all those super-strong Darkspawn she's been…um, _mothering._"

There was the _implied _frown again. _"Total annihilation of your pathetic race, of course. Was this not made clear before? I do beg pardon, if it was not."_

"No…um…No offence!" Merran assured him cheerfully. "It was crystal. I just hoped…never mind." She tapped her forefinger on her chin nervously, shooting a reassuring grin up at him that she did not feel in the least. When she spoke next, her voice cracked, "And um…how soon does she plan to do this…?"

"_I do not have her Agenda…" _he sounded slightly peeved. _"As soon as she has amassed enough to suit her needs I suppose…"_

"Ooh...kay…" She thought of the others at the Keep, her blood turning to ice in her veins. Of Brogan and Cullen and Robert…Felsi and little Rose…The people in the Keep's village and the outlying farms…Too many people…They had destroyed one of The Mother's nests which might have caused a set back in The Mother's plans, but what if that was not the only nest in the area? What if Alistair and the other Grey Wardens couldn't locate it? What if the Mother's armies overwhelmed the Wardens before they could do anything about her? What if she were attacking the Keep and the City _now_…?

She wanted to weep. All this trouble to end the Blight…and they were going to be destroyed anyway…

"I have to stop her," Merran told them.

"_You cannot do this on your own…_"

"Of course not!" she snapped at him, causing the ghoulish ex-Legion of the Dead to raise her battle axe once more. "Put that thing down, Utha!" Merran yelled at her. "Or so help me, I'll…" _Kardol…_Merran glared at the Dwarf. _You can't speak any more, but I can lay pretty good odds that I know what happened to your commanding officer…_She set her jaw at the Darkspawn, "Of course I can't do it on my own. I'll need the other Wardens – the one that came with me – oh and I suppose the bleeping Elfie thing and her walking tree…We stopped the Horde before," she reminded him coldly. "And we'll stop them again."

"_With my help…"_

"What?"

"_I can help you. The Mother is strong. Her followers are many. You can not do this on your own."_

"No. Bloody. Way." Merran gritted between her teeth. Join forces with a Darkspawn? He'd kidnapped dozens of Grey Wardens and used them to create his unnatural, talking…_things. _By his own admission he had been the one who had caused Urthemiel to be tainted and enslaved by the Darkspawn – and he had been the one who had created The Mother – and _this situation_. All accidents? What happens with the next accident? Accidentally find and taint another Old God? Accidentally create something even worse than The Mother? _I can't trust him…_Allying herself with this creature was the same as going along with Flemeth's plan to create a human with the soul of an Old God…

Except, Merran had never been sure about that one…She had never quite agreed with Wynne…A thinking, feeling, empathetic human being with the soul of an Old God. One that could make a choice…It wasn't the same thing…_It wasn't the same thing!_

As she gazed up at his permanently solemn face, Merran could feel her resolve crumbling.

"Aw…" she murmured, rubbing her eyes tiredly with the heel of her hand. "Nug _poop…_"

-oo-


	25. Out of the Rain

-oo-

**Chapter 25 – Out of the Rain**

The first thing she noticed was the smell…and why couldn't she for once, wake up in a field full of sweet smelling freesias…or surrounded by well-ripened cheeses, or even a bakery…? Why did it always have to be…She opened her eyes and lifted her head. She was in a cell. It hadn't been cleaned out in a while. The last occupant was still in it…well, mostly still in it…

A soft moan behind her made Merran turn. Jowan was attempting to sit up, passing his hand over his face and grimacing in pain and distaste at his surroundings. He and Velanna had been placed in the same, filthy cell.

"Urgh…Have we fallen down someone's garderobe or something?" he asked "And _what _am I wearing…?"

"I don't care – get your _bleeping _hands off me," Velanna growled at him. She looked in panic about the cell, "Where is Sylvie?"

"Here…"

Velanna leapt to her feet, rushing to the bars of the cell. She reached for the woman who had spoken, "Seranni!"

"No!" the woman hissed urgently, recoiling. "You can't touch me. And you can't stay here." Her eyes travelled past her sister to the shabbily dressed man behind her. "He has plans for you." When her eyes returned to the other Elf, they were imploring. "For all of you. You must leave here – and quickly."

Merran stood up. She eyed the young Elf in concern. There was no mistaking the family resemblance – this must be the sister Velanna had been looking for – but she bore the unmistakeable signs of Taint infection, except…She appeared to be in the advanced stages. If that were the case, she should not even be upright and walking or talking. She looked a lot like the Dwarf, Utha.

"You will come with us." Velanna reached for her sibling again.

"No. I am here because I have chosen, sister." A loud scraping noise made her look fearfully over her shoulder. She threw a cloth-wrapped bundle into the cell. As she began backing away, she told Velanna, "I do not have much time. I will try to distract them for as long as I can. Leave," she counselled them, adding firmly, "and do not attempt to seek me again."

With that she turned, disappearing through an arched doorway, the purplish glow of the carved wood as it closed indicated magic had sealed it behind her.

Jowan had already unwrapped the bundle. It was a set of keys; he eagerly began testing which of them fit the lock on the cell door. The ancient padlock creaked open and he swung the cell door open noisily, heading next towards Merran's cell. The two of them started towards the only other door in the area.

"Velanna…" Merran touched the Elf's arm. "We have to hurry."

Sylvie tugged anxiously at Velanna's clothes. Mutely, the Elven woman began to walk, her face bereft of emotion. Between the two Mages, and walking sapling, they managed to lead her out of the exit. A small number of Darkspawn were on the other side – Merran paralysed them, while Jowan blasted them alternatively with ice, fire and then lightning. He raided their bodies, taking a couple of long-bladed daggers, pilfering a rough-hewn shortbow and a half-empty quiver of arrows. He pressed them onto the still-shocked Elf, saying gruffly, "Here, make yourself useful."

That seemed to snap Velanna out of her fugue, the now-familiar scowl reanimating her features. They had no idea where they were going – at some point Sylvie and Velanna began to lead the way through the circuitous system of tunnels.

"Oh, urgh, what is that smell?" Jowan asked at an intersection.

"Don't ask if you don't want to know!" Merran recommended, though it didn't stop her from poking her head down the dimly-lit tunnel. There were mine carts and discarded, broken tools. The old lanterns had been re-lit, illuminating the remains of _people _chained to the walls. Hearing Jowan's footfalls, she turned around and pushed him back the way he had come. "Oh, you _definitely _don't want to know."

"Darkspawn!" he yelled almost immediately.

They crowded into the small space, Merran casting repulsion shields as quickly as she could, but there was an Ogre bearing down on them…The walls suddenly came alive, exploding dirt and rock as roots came snaking out through the packed earth, wrapping the Ogre in a wooden ball.

"Not _bleeping _fire!" Velanna yelled as Jowan began to cast, pushing him out of the way. "Just go, go, go!" They ran, the tunnel collapsing behind them as ancient tree roots reclaimed the old mine shafts. Through the haze of debris, the four of them ran, ignoring the rumbling floors and the sharply tilting ground.

They broke out into a hall of some kind.

"Stairs!" Merran pointed and they ran again, the hall leading out into another tunnel and then…blessed sunshine and clear air. It was raining out here, but none of them cared, falling to the rain-soaked earth and letting the downpour wash away the smell of Darkspawn.

"You're getting better," Jowan puffed beside her.

"About blasted time too…" Merran wheezed.

"_Warden…?_"

Merran rolled over, propping herself up onto her elbows. A small group of soldiers bearing the Amaranthine coat of arms stood under the shelter of the remains of an old shed, soaked to the skin under their mail and plate and looking thoroughly miserable. The sight of them triggered the release of something within her and she began to giggle. As ridiculous as it seemed, she was so relieved to be out and seeing someone else familiar, she wanted to scream and laugh and shout – Jowan joining in beside her, slapping the ground in mirthful relief, sending a spray of muddy water over his colleague.

Watching the two humans guffaw with no particular reason that she could ascertain, except for the fact that perhaps they _enjoyed _being covered in mud, Velanna sneered at them. Looking down at Sylvie, who gave a twiggy shrug, she growled, "Stupid _bleeping Shems_…"

-oo-

Alistair studied the map dutifully. Amaranthine was a large Arling. Certainly not as large as Redcliffe, and not as wet as Gwaren, but it had its fair share of typical Fereldan geography – scraggy forests, peat bogs, long-abandoned silverite mines, Darkspawn breeding nurseries…And then there was the port of Amaranthine too; a fair rival to Denerim in the number of resident and itinerant pirates, rogues and shonky peddlars of fine trinkets. He knew he didn't have to look at the map; both of them knew where the south road went through the Wending Wood. Mistress Woolsey had bent his ear about the area a number of times already. It was just something else for their tired minds to focus on.

"I have to admit," Varel admitted reluctantly, his voice sounding even more strained than usual. "I expected Garavel and his men to have returned by now."

_Three days…_Alistair clenched his hands on the surface of the desk. Anything could have happened in three days…He sighed, rubbing at eyes that had not seen sleep since they had returned from the Knotwood Hills. The others he had dismissed for food and rest, but he and Varel had stayed up past Witching Hour briefing each other. In a little while the sun would be up for another day.

"When the others are rested enough, I'll set out," Alistair told the Seneschal.

"And what about rest yourself, Your Grace?" asked Varel, eyeing the Warden Commander critically.

Alistair waved a vague hand in the air. He was far too jittery to sleep. The thought of Merran still out there…_Makers blood, she was supposed to be _safe _here…_

He lifted his head suddenly. "Where's Brogan?" he asked.

Varel allowed himself a small smile. "In the stables," he told the Warden Commander. "That Mabari of yours has been keeping guard on the lad for the last three days." He shook his head in wonder. "I don't know how she does it."

Alistair snorted. "She's had plenty of practice…" he said, staring unseeing at the map. Cullen had stayed by him. She had been the one who had found him after the battle with the Archdemon, refusing to leave his side until Wynne had declared him out of danger. The King had claimed her briefly, being as enthusiastic as any natural Fereldan to replenish the numbers in the Royal Kennels. And when she had gone, Alistair had been surprised to find that he missed her. Like the rose, Cullen had been a physical reminder of Merran and despite the emptiness and the gnawing grief, he still felt close to her when either were around. Unusually, the dreams of Merran had only begun after Cullen had gone to the Royal Kennels…

"If you want me I'll be in the stables," Alistair told the Seneschal abruptly. He pointed a gloved finger at the older man. "You. Get some sleep."

Varels' iron grey eyebrows lifted. He contemplated stating the obvious, but he maintained his silence, merely nodding his head in compliance. Turning on his heel, the Warden Commander left the room. It wouldn't take him long to make his way to the stables. He tossed over the idea of removing his armour, but if he was going to set out in few more hours, he didn't see the point.

It was raining again, but this _was _Ferelden after all. If it wasn't raining, it just wasn't a good day. Holding an arm over his head, he sprinted across the courtyard from the kitchens to the stables, shaking his head like a wet dog once he was inside.

Someone – Varel probably – had left a lamp burning in Cullen's temporary pen. He didn't know why the Mabari chose to stay down here, but he still kept an extra thick fur in his rooms just in case she decided to share his space again.

He found Mabari and Dwarf child fast asleep – a thick layer of hay across them both. Brogan had kicked the blanket off his legs and was curled up on Cullen's side, shivering in his sleep. As Alistair picked the blanket up to cover the lad, he was struck by how much the tiny Dwarven child reminded him of himself; the number of times he had sought warmth from the kennel occupants when he was the same age…Of course, he had been a lot bigger than Brogan and a little less obnoxious…just a _little_…

Cullen lifted her head, yawning. She snuffled at his hand, then stretching her legs with a satisfied groan, lay her massive head back down again, closing her eyes. Alistair gave the closest misshapen ear a rub, gazing down at boy and dog with something akin to jealousy. How different his life would have been if he had had a Mabari as a child. He would have trained her to chew Lady Isolde's most expensive shoes, or leave half-digested dinners in her smallclothes drawer…Or maybe…considering how much Isolde Guerrin despised Mabari…not. The only time he'd actually had a chance to sleep with the dogs anyway had been when Bann Teagan had visited with his hunting parties…and in all that time, none of them had imprinted on him.

Without his thinking about it he lifted his hand to brush a few stray strands of hair from Brogan's forehead, realising from the dirt-smudged channels down the boy's cheeks that he'd been crying. Alistair sat back on his haunches. He really didn't know what to do about that – only that he _should _do something about it. It was easy with Felsi and Oghren's Rose; picking her up and cradling her in his arms seemed a natural thing to do. She was ticklish and she was giggly and she had the sweetest way of running up to him to wrap her arms around his leg; standing on his boot so he could walk around the room with her. One, it made Oghren visibly jealous. It was only during these times that the usually gruff Dwarf would comment about how he was holding the Rugrat wrong, or how Rose was only probably pretending that she liked to be tickled. Anyone with eyes could see she was faking it…

Rose actually seemed to like him. That was point two.

Brogan didn't. The few times he'd been near the boy, he'd been treated to animosity and angry stares…

Giving an infinitesimal adjustment to the blanket, Alistair rose. Should he carry the boy back inside? But it was still raining...Maybe he should wake Brogan, except he didn't relish the thought of having his shins attacked…

While he was considering his options, Cullen raised her head sharply. Like the needle of a compass, her nose swivelled around to point to the far corner of the stall; the stub of her tail beginning to wag…She rose to her feet so suddenly, Brogan's head fell to the floor with an audible thud; he woke up with a start, complaining loudly.

Alistair and Cullen shared one, short look.

_My Human is back…_

Without a second thought, Alistair scooped Brogan up; the three of them making a dash for the stable exit. There was a brief struggle at the door as man and dog fought for exit space. Dog won the victory, squeezing past Alistair's legs and nearly sending him toppling. Regaining his balance he pelted through the deep puddles and sludgy mud across the courtyard, following the mud-splatter of the Mabari. The three of them rounded the corner of the small storage shed in the rain, Cullen's feet scrabbling for purchase in the slippery mud; her entire left side leaning at an impossible angle before she righted herself and kept going – her target the small group of people trudging tiredly under the portcullis. She bounded over and leapt, colliding with a diminutive figure in the centre of the group, the two of them coming to a messy, muddy tangle fully five feet behind the group.

By now Brogan had realised who Cullen had found and struggled mightily for release. Alistair placed the boy on the ground; who took off like a dart, landing on the Mabari and attempting to wriggle underneath. Alistair could hear a plaintive cry for help in amongst the excited yelping, splashing and happy squeals. It was only a simple matter of reaching under the Mabari to haul out a very muddy and very bruised Merran. Heedless of the dirt and muddy slime he crushed her to his chest, kissing her fiercely while the rain and the wind roared around their ears.

When he released her, she was blinking furiously against the rain, her hair plastered to her skin.

Hands on either side of her face and grinning madly, he yelled above the din, "You look awful!"

"So do you!" she yelled back. "And by the way…_Ouch!_ That really, really _hurt!_'

"Any chance we could get out of the rain?" Jowan appeared through the wall of water, his head bowed under the onslaught of the storm. Alistair had to look very hard at the Mage before he realised what he was seeing.

"Jowan..." Alistair said cautiously, just in case his eyes were wrong and his tired brain was making him see things. "You appear to have a small, frightened tree attached to your back."

"Don't ask…" Jowan growled irritably. "It's too long a story. And I don't fancy telling it in the rain. Can we _please _get out of this storm before I dissolve?"

-oo-


	26. Messenger

A/N Warning – this chapter contains fluff. Feel free to flame…

-oo-

**Chapter 26 – Messenger**

He'd removed the armour. He'd washed himself in frigid water – not willing to wait to have some heated up for him - throwing a bucket over himself in the stone bath, scrubbing thoroughly then tipping a few more bucketfuls over himself. He'd even tried to take the tangles out of his hair, drying then finger-combing the snarls out so that the ends curled against the back of his neck. He'd been forced to look at himself in the mirror in order to shave. _Maker, _he'd looked a fright. By the time he'd finished, the sun was beginning to rise, though it was hard to tell through the continuing heavy downpour, making the day grey and depressing, but Alistair could not find it in himself to feel anywhere near depressed.

He'd donned a comfortable pair of breeches and linen shirt, agonising over the choice between tunic and vest; the only other clothing he owned They were both the same colour; settling eventually on the black vest. It had silver frogging, with a very simple pattern of silver embroidery around the arms and neck. The tunic was a bit too country-dance, he decided; even if the vest did make him look like he was dressed to attend someone's wedding…or funeral…

One last check in the shaving mirror…_Andraste's sizzling girdle, I look like death warmed over…When did I start looking this stupid?_

He reached for the box on his side-table, then thought, _no, later…_He walked to the door, only to remember he was still barefoot. _Urgh…no clean socks!_ He rummaged desperately to the bottom of his clothes trunk, eventually locating two different socks – one with a hole in it he'd forgotten to ask Wynne to repair…pulling them both on (one was a great deal shorter than the other) – and then slipping on a clean pair of boots. Odd…he'd never thought of it before, but he did appear to have more pairs of boots than he had socks…or even clothes for that matter…

He paused briefly to re-check his reflection; just in case he had stopped looking decrepit, but alas, the same face he'd seen five and ten minutes ago stared back at him wistfully. Purple circles ringed his eyes, which were bloodshot with lack of sleep and despite his tanned skin there was still an unhealthy pallor…_Maker's blood! Is that a pimple…!_ _No, thank goodness…_It was just a stray bit of stubble he'd failed to wipe off.

Lightning crashed outside. This was the first real storm he'd experienced since coming to Amaranthine. He'd heard the storms that blew in from the Amaranthine Ocean were fierce and he was about to find out just how fierce they could be, the windows rattling on their hinges under the onslaught of the wind. He headed yet again for the door, pulling it open and nearly colliding with Merran - standing with her hand raised - as though preparing to knock. She'd cleaned up too he noticed, her still damp hair tied loosely with a length of bandage – and she was back in her brown breeches and beige shirt, though she'd left it unbelted with a grey shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. It was rather dowdy, he thought…While he rocked on the balls of his feet in surprise, he found her knocking on his chest instead.

"Anyone home?" she asked.

"Oh, that's just cruel…"

She ducked her head, saying, "Sorry," though by the cheeky twinkle in her own tired eyes, he doubted she was anywhere near apologetic.

She took a step back, frowning at him. Her head tilting to the side she asked him, "Did someone die?" Chewing on her lower lip, she added thoughtfully, "It's too early for a wedding…" And then she just sighed. "Either way it's too late or far, far too early to use my brain. Can I just have a hug instead?"

Alistair spread his arms out wide, "If you must…"

Chuckling, she sunk her head into his chest, wrapping her arms around his middle. She sighed, tightening her hold. "Best place in the whole of Ferelden," she told him, sounding very pleased. "Oh, urgh…I have some really horrible things to tell you…"

Winding his own arms around her shoulders, he dragged her back into the room, toeing the door shut behind her; turning the key quietly to lock it.

"Horrible?" He mooshed his cheek into the top of her head, causing her to laugh again. "What could be more horrible than you telling me you have one last thing to do in this world before you leave me forever…again?"

There was just the slightest of pauses.

"I…made a deal with the Architect to help him defeat the Mother…Is that horrible enough?"

"_YOU WHAT!_"

If he hadn't been holding her so tightly, he would have reeled backwards and fallen into his open clothes chest.

"Wait…who's the Architect?"

She pushed herself away, automatically picking up and folding the clothes he'd pulled from the chest, piling them in neatly. She worked her way around the room; straightening furs and pulling the heavy drapes away from the windows to let the weak rays of the new sun through the windows. As she worked, she told him about the very powerful Emissary they'd met in the abandoned mine; how he'd called himself 'The Architect', the things the Architect had told them; about taking the Grey Wardens alive and _why_; about the Legion of the Dead soldier Utha and Velanna's sister Seranni; about the creation of the Mother and then lastly, the Architect's admission that it was he who had inadvertently been the one who had begun the last Blight…

"He wouldn't tell me where the Mother was until I agreed to join forces with him, Alistair. He may be more powerful magically, but the numbers on her side are larger…It seemed…I didn't _want_ to, but…"

She settled herself on the edge of his bed, looking utterly miserable. He sat beside her, unspeaking. After a while he nudged her with his arm.

"You know…" he began sternly. "As your Warden Commander, I could have you put into the stocks for this…flogged…even executed if I thought the crime warranted the punishment…Consorting with and making a deal with the Darkspawn; that's…" He shook his head at her. "That's pretty serious stuff."

She nodded mutely, staring at the floor.

Lifting his arm high above her, he made a fist, as though to strike, instead dropping his arm across her shoulders and pulling her close. Dropping a kiss into her hair, he murmured. "'Whatever it takes', Merran…Didn't Duncan drill that into us enough times? Grey Wardens do whatever it takes – if we have to sell our souls to a dozen Demons to save the world, we would do it. Does that make us bad? I don't know. Grey Wardens never set out to be _liked._ We're heroes, but hated ones, mistrusted because of the secrecy that surrounds us; because of the Taint that flows…well, _used _to flow in our veins. Revered and reviled; history honours us and in turn wishes to forget us." He gave a short, self-deprecating burst of laughter. "Heroes and warriors without equal…if you were just a _normal _hero who'd just, you know; merely liberated a small landlocked country or slain a few local dragons, you'd be pretty annoyed at the Grey Wardens too, wouldn't you? We're all just a bunch of show-offs, really. And look at what we turn into…eventually. We end up _becoming_ the things that we fight our entire, short lives."

"At the Circle Tower I thought the Grey Wardens were wonderful…" she murmured, her voice barely audible. She had thrown off her half boots, tucking her feet underneath her, burrowing into his side. "When I met Duncan I jumped at the chance to become a Grey Warden…To be able to prove that magic could be a real help to people – not the curse that some thought it was – that was what I wanted to do." She looked up at him, cheeks dimpling. "And by the way, what you just said; that was really deep."

"I have my moments…"

Her grin was short-lived. "And the Architect?" she asked, a frown wrinkling between her eyes he tried to kiss straight again.

"There really _is _a Darkspawn out there intelligent enough to reason with?" he asked.

"It was like talking to Wynne, except smellier." Her nose wrinkled this time – and he kissed that too. "Alistair…" _Oh, not that voice again…_

As he started to complain, she touched his lips with her fingers, halting the flow of unhappy words. Then she took a deep breath.

"The Architect thinks the Mother intends to attack Amaranthine, as a starting point to the rest of Ferelden; a sort of mini-Blight. He doesn't know when, but he said he was going to find out. I don't know whether I can trust him, but I know I trust the Mother not at all."

"And you think this is the last thing the Old God wanted you to do?" Alistair murmured under her hand. He rested his forehead against hers, refusing to look into her eyes when he said it. "To destroy the Mother, the Architect; or both?"

"I don't know."

"Or maybe…" He thought of his dream. He'd had it every night since Soldier's Peak until she'd shown up in the flesh. It wasn't just wishful thinking. He wanted to believe it wasn't just wishful thinking. "Maybe Wynne was wrong."

"Alistair…"

It was his turn to place his hand over her lips. "Wynne wasn't in contact with the Old God, _you _were, Merran. Only you can know what he or she meant."

"Urthemiel told me it was a 'gift'…" she frowned. "But took away most of my magic…" Her eyes closed in frustration. "I don't understand…I wish I'd been given more information; something a little bit more _specific_. I don't know. Maybe this is just revenge for all those games of Plonk with Urthemiel…"

Alistair tried to digest this piece of information, but was finding it rather difficult.

"You…you played _Plonk _with an Old God?" he asked, looking down his nose at the top of her head.

"Very badly, I'm afraid."

"Wow…I'm just…I can't seem to get a single brain cell in my head to picture that for me, so I'm going to have to take your word on that."

She laughed at him. Her hand had dropped into his lap, tracing patterns along the inside of his thigh and making it incredibly difficult to think logically at all.

"It's almost morning…" she said.

"It _is _morning…" he corrected her, grabbing her hand and placing a kiss on the inside of her palm_._

"The others will be up soon," she pointed out.

"I've locked the door."

"Brogan will come looking for me."

"I've left instructions with Cullen to fetch him breakfast…"

"The others will need to know about the Mother and the Architect," she told him with a frown.

"Damn the Architect, the Mother and the _others_…" Alistair growled. "I just want five minutes with you – is that too much to ask?"

She looked up at him, fascinated by the scar that ran from the base of his chin to the top of his collarbone, tracing it from top to bottom with the tip of a finger and then her _tongue_. "_Only _five minutes?" she whispered against his skin.

"Right. Let me rephrase that. Five hours…is _that _too much to ask?"

-oo-

It was still raining when Alistair woke, the rain and wind battering the double doors to his balcony mercilessly. He heard a soft snuffling by his ear and just _knew _what it was before he opened his eyes. He was disappointed but he opened them anyway, coming face to nose with Cullen's muzzle, paws twitching in her sleep. _Once, _he thought in irritation, _just once, can I wake up with someone I actually _want _to be in bed with…?_

"Hey…you're awake."

Merran appeared, leaning over the Mabari's bulk for a good morning – good _afternoon_ – kiss.

"Why is there a dog in my bed?" he asked, almost pleased _she _was here, but _not _pleased that she wasn't alone.

"She said she was cold."

Alistair eyed Cullen with undisguised resentment. All this time since coming here, she'd refused to sleep in his room, preferring to adjourn every evening to the stables or outside his door and _now _she chooses to muscle in? And did Mabaris get cold? Short of turning them into pupsicles with a freezing spell, they were bred to be pretty darned hardy…A lot of people lucky enough to own one quite frequently used them as portable heating devices. He knew his toes had been kept warm on a number of occasions back in Denerim…

Staring up at the canopy, he became aware of another noise; a kind of scratching, accompanied by a thump, and then a squeaky voice spoke.

"Mummy, what's this word?"

"Ooh, let me see…" The bed shook as Merran scooted to the end of the bed. She had dressed he saw; her hair back in its customary long braid. _Very disappointing…_

"'Threnodies'," Merran told Brogan.

"Trendees…" Brogan repeated dutifully. "That's a dumb word."

"Yeah. It is," he could hear his scholarly Mage reassure the bright young mind. "It's Chantry stuff, you probably don't need to know it."

"Oh. Okay."

Alistair bolted upright, careful to make sure certain parts of him remained covered when he did so. A fur rug had been spread across the end of the bed – supposedly for the Mabari, who had chosen instead to take up residence on the pillow Merran had just lately used. Brogan was currently on the rug; lying on his stomach, feet thumping the bed every so often. He had a large book open in front of him, one arm resting across the open page. Beside Cullen, Merran sat cross-legged, darning one of his socks, of all things. She held it up for his inspection.

"Just like Mama Wynne?" she asked.

Alistair blinked at her handiwork. "She never embroidered the letter 'A' on them before…" he told her slowly.

"You don't like it? I can take it off – _or _I can put 'L' on one and 'R' on the other if you like."

"Oh ha, ha, very funny. That's just assuming I can read my letters."

"You can't read _your _letters?" Brogan curled his lip at him. "That's dumb."

"At least _I _can pronounce 'Threnodies'," Alistair shot back.

"Mummy said I didn't have to learn it," he shrugged a shoulder. "I don't care…"

Alistair turned to Merran to make a point about the importance of educating the young but she was already staring alternatively at him and the young Dwarf lad in such wonder and admiration, he immediately lost his train of thought – and then she just threw herself at him in a mighty hug.

"Ow! Ow – pin…in the shoulder! Merran…ouch…!"

"Oh, sorry!" She readjusted her hold on him, whispering into his ear, "You're _amazing…_He never talks to anyone else…thank you…!" _Oh, really…_he thought to himself, wondering just _how _grateful she would be…but she had released him already, awkwardly half-clambering back over Cullen's immobile, snoring bulk. She went back to his socks, casting him a smile that warmed him all the way to his cockles. Looking at the scene before him, he thought how domestic and…happy…it looked. _I'm going to need a bigger bed…_he told himself, wondering how long this moment would last – when there was a knock on the door.

Alistair began to get out of bed, remembering belatedly he wasn't wearing anything and stopped halfway, one foot on the cold floors, the other still under the covers. Merran had already slid off the bed to answer the door in his place. She opened the door to reveal Corporal Maberlies, looking very damp and nervous in the stone corridor. The young soldier tried not to look inside, her gaze fixed on the lintel above her head.

"Sorry to disturb you, Warden," Maberlies said. "But there's a…_thing_ – a talking Darkspawn at the gate, ma'am. It – he…says it's got a message from something called an Architect…That you'd know what it was about, um…"

From the bed, Alistair could see Merran's shoulders tense. "Thank you Alys. Could you inform the Seneschal? This will be an important message for all of us."

"Yes Warden…"

Merran closed the door after the Corporal, head leaning against the wood, palms splayed on either side of her head. When she turned, there was a look in her eye that he never wanted to see again. It was the same look she'd had when she'd told him it would be she who would administer the final blow to the Archdemon; helplessness; resignation…A look that told him: _this is the end…_


	27. Into the Storm

-oo-

**Chapter 27 – Into the Storm**

"What shall we do about him, Warden Commander?"

Alistair looked back over his shoulder at the messenger. The…_thing _had not stayed, diving back into the heavy rain without a second thought. It could still be seen walking down the main street.

"Do we have to do anything about it, Kristoff?" Alistair replied, contemplating his own dash back behind the Keep's walls. "He's just the messenger – he hasn't killed anyone and he's just done us a favour…" He sighed at the other Warden's expression. "Yes, and I can't believe I've just said that either." He added mentally, _what is the world coming to? Alliances with Darkspawn…We must all be going mad…_

As one both men cast their gazes into the rain, after the departing creature.

"And the Joining?" Kristoff changed the subject. "The…young person your Mage brought back has expressed a desire to join the Order, along with the Legion of the Dead soldier."

One of Alistair's eyebrows rose just a fraction on his rain-soaked forehead. _My Mage?_ _My Mage…Well she isn't MY Mage…Yet…_

"Tell Varel to prepare for the both of them to undergo the Joining this evening," he instructed his Second. _The more, the merrier._ They could take advantage of Sigrun's excellent – if somewhat unfair – fighting skills and from the small bit of information Merran had been able to pass on to him about the Elf; they would be adding some powerful Dalish magic into their ranks as well. He'd have more people to fight and he'd worry slightly less about the people fighting with him being infected with the Taint…

It felt odd. Duncan had spent years trying to convince the Circle of Magi to let him recruit Mages into the Grey Wardens and here he was with _four _of them…Of course, technically Merran was Duncan's recruiting victory over the Chantry and Circle – and apart from Merran _all _of them were also – according to the Chantry - _apostates_…

Well, waste not want not…As far as the Grey Wardens were concerned, it was the Chantry's loss.

It also wasn't bad going for someone who had once trained to hunt down and dispose of apostates and maleficarum.

Kristoff had paused, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

"Something else you wanted to discuss?" Alistair asked.

The other Grey Warden's gaze turned again into the falling wall of grey water after the Darkspawn.

"My…I have a wife…" he said slowly. "In Amaranthine."

Alistair stared in surprise at the tall, usually quiet Warden. _A wife…_it hadn't even occurred to him that the other Wardens might have a life outside the Order. With a pang of guilt he also realised how little he knew his other Wardens – and he might not even get a chance to get to know them now. How many others might have interests in the area? Oghren obviously; with Felsi and Rose in the Keep. Nathaniel perhaps…the man did live and grow up in the Arling after all…and of course Merran…could he take her with him this time? Would she follow him?

He hesitated for a bare moment then clapped Kristoff somewhat awkwardly on the shoulder.

"I understand," Alistair said, his words barely audible above the howl of the storm. "Please gather the other Wardens to meet in my office," he added. "The two recruits as well. Tell them I need to speak to them all urgently."

Kristoff nodded then dove into the rain; Alistair lingering under the relative dry of the gatehouse porch collecting his thoughts before taking a deep, steeling breath and heading into the storm himself.

Merran was waiting for him in the main hall, looking anxious and impatient for news.

"Well?" she asked. "What did he say? I hope the Architect isn't going back on his word to help us."

"No," Alistair told her, the two of them heading through the main hall and up the central stairwell; his armour dripping a generous trail of muddy water.

"You should get dried off," she suggested after a couple of minutes, risking a peek up at his grim face.

"No time," he sighed. "I'll be getting wet again anyway." _And soon too._

"Well, at the least…"

Alistair stopped abruptly. Turning to her, he gripped her shoulders, instantly soaking her shirt. "Merran…"

She turned large, liquid brown eyes up at him and everything he'd been about to say fled his brain. He opened his mouth for the heck of it, just in case any dreg of thought brave enough to remain emerged, but none did. As she continued to stare expectantly at him, he tried to gather a few random thoughts. Shaking his head at his ineptness, he managed, "That's a _terrible _shawl…"

The ghost of a smile twitched at her lips, "Terrible as in functional – not warm enough? Or terrible meaning ugly?"

"_Both…_" He lifted his hands into the air, illogically relieved she was taking his non sequitur and running with it. Illogical because he knew _that _conversation would rear its unwelcome head soon and attempting to avoid or delay it was pointless.

She continued to walk. "It _is _ugly," she admitted. "But surprisingly warm. I'm thinking about making it standard issue for all female Grey Wardens," she told him. "I intend to have the rearing Griffon stitched onto all of them so that anyone wearing the _official _Grey Warden shawl will be _instantly _recognised! Male Wardens of course will have beanies." She risked another glance at him. His expression was nicely neutral, fading to befuddlement. It was better than the bleak look he'd been harbouring in his eyes when he had come back into the Keep.

"Beanies?" he repeated hollowly.

"With pom-poms."

By this time the two of them had arrived at the door to his office. Alistair paused, his hand on the handle. The image of Kristoff and Nathaniel in full battle armour with a knitted grey beanie on top of their heads kept running into solid walls inside his brain…and falling over.

"Merran…"

"Mm-hm?"

"You know I love you. Really."

"Mm-hm."

"…But if I have to protect my Wardens from you, you know I will…"

She waggled her finger at him, "Ha ha! You say that _now…_" she warned. "Just wait. I'm going to trial the beanie on Oghren – he's been complaining about his ears being chilly – we'll be the envy of Amaranthine. Captain Garavel will want them for his troops too. You'll see."

"Uh-huh…" Shaking his head, he opened the door, steering her firmly inside. He was met by a tray holding a large bowl of still-steaming hot soup, an entire loaf of Bronwyn's dense dark bread and a generous wedge of Cumberland red – the orange cheese Merran called 'unnatural'. He pointed to the tray. "Did you do this?" She nodded. "Hm…" He headed straight for the cheese, picking it up without removing his gauntlets and dunking it into the soup. It was _good_ cheese…"I _almost _forgive you for the beanie idea, in that case."

-oo-

Alistair watched the reactions of the occupants of the room as the news sunk in. Expressions ranged from anger, excitement and anxiety to outright apathy. He leant back slightly, folding his arms, awaiting the barrage of questions that were slow in arriving. Anders – as always - was the first to speak, holding up his hand as though he were in a classroom.

"Question," he said, with a dramatic pause in between. "How many Darkspawn are we looking at here? Just a handful heading over to throw some rocks at the Amaranthine gate guard…and a couple toddling over here to insult the size of our towers…I hope?"

"The messenger wasn't _specific_," Alistair replied. "Enough to wipe out every man, woman, child and cow was the _impression_ we received."

"What?" Oghren exclaimed. "The city _and _the Keep? Simultaneously?" Alistair nodded. "That's a sodding _horde…_And here I was thinking we were bloody heroes, ending the Blight for the next century or so. Turns out we got an encore…"

"Encore," Anders chuckled. "I like that one…Although I feel sorry for the cow…"

"Look," Alistair bit out, before anyone else could make a funny comment – or thought they could make a funny comment – "I know I don't have to tell you we can't be at two places at the same time."

"Amaranthine is the hub of this Arling," Nathaniel frowned at him. "It has the greater population. The city _must_ be preserved…"

"At the cost of the land?" Velanna hissed at Nate like an angry snake. "You _bleeping _Shemlen are all the same…Hiding in your houses of stone and ignoring your fields and _bleeping _forests until you realise you are _starving…_!"

"Please!" Alistair raised his voice. He stood, towering over the Elf and glaring at Nathaniel before the argument got out of hand. They would waste precious minutes debating this. "The Grey Wardens will be divided into two parties – one group will stand with Aidan's men and defend the city of Amaranthine. The other will remain here and protect the people of this Keep."

"Why not move everyone from the Keep to Amaranthine?" Jowan asked the question, before shrinking back behind Merran's chair.

"We don't have the time," Alistair explained. "And moving people and livestock to a battle zone is generally not considered_ ideal_. You know as well as I do, the Darkspawn don't attack from the outside in – they appear _any_where. _No_where is safe, especially when an organised horde is involved." He turned to the pair of Dwarves by the exit. "Mr Glavonak, you've been working on the Keep's defences?"

"Eh," the resident stonemason shrugged. "It'll do…for humans. Plus all known exits from your sodding cellars and crypts have been sealed nice and tight. An Ogre could pass wind down there and no one would know."

Alistair nodded. _It'll have to do…_He turned next to Captain Garavel, "Captain, how many from the outlying areas have your men managed to bring back to the Keep?"

"Only thirty," the Guard Captain responded. "With about ten able-bodied willing to take up arms, Warden Commander. They're down in the Smithy now, being outfitted."

"Right," Alistair swept the room with a stern gaze. "Now, I know some of you have interests both here as well as Amaranthine, so make up of the two parties will be purely voluntary."

"Quite frankly," Anders grimaced, "I'd like to volunteer to run screaming for my mummy and teddy bear."

"Isn't Wynnie and that golem in Amaranthine still?" Oghren asked. "Along with Red and Zev?"

"The Golem _and _the fiery redhead?" Anders queried. "Right. Amaranthine for me, then."

Suppressing a sigh of exasperation, Alistair looked once more around the room. "Who else?"

"I'm for Amaranthine," Nate stated, with a significant glance towards Velanna.

"If ya don't mind," Oghren said, bouncing the handle of his axe on the rug. "I'm staying here. Can't leave Fels and the Rugrat on their little lonesomes…"

"Amaranthine." Sigrun put her hand up too. "Never been to a human city before. Should be fun…except for the whole, you know, Darkspawn…killing…thing…"

"The Keep," Jowan stated.

"Same here," Marduk said with a quick look at Merran, his cheeks turning slightly pink. Alistair frowned at the young Dwarf, then turned his attention to the scowling Elf in the corner.

Velanna lifted her chin at him and growled, "The tree is happier here."

He looked lastly at Merran, steeling himself for her answer. "The Keep," she said, with a small shrug. "And you?"

"Heh, yeah," Oghren muttered. "You heading out or stayin' in, Boss?"

Unable to tear his gaze away from his love, he straightened. _I am the Arl…_he thought. _As much as I don't want to be…I have a responsibility to the people of this Arling…_

"Amaranthine."

She gave him a small, slow nod; barely an incline of her head as Oghren muttered, "Well, I'll be…" under his breath.

Alistair did a quick mental count. _Five each way…_although the Amaranthine group would expand with the addition of Wynne, Shale, Zevran and Leliana, assuming they were all still there and also assuming both Sigrun and Velanna survived the Joining. They should all leave _now _he knew, but there were too many preparations to be made and his Wardens needed rest.

He straightened, returning behind his desk. "The Joining ceremony for Sigrun and Velanna will take place this evening. The Amaranthine party will leave at first light tomorrow."

"If we can see past our noses in this rain…" Anders sighed.

"What's wrong, sparkle-fingers?" Oghren chuckled. "Haven't figured out a water-proofing spell yet?"

"I'll have you know my robes are being ruined by all this humidity…"

"_Thank you_ for your time…" Alistair spoke before another argument could break out. "All of you – get something to eat and get some rest – because there won't be any in between. As soon as we're done here and in Amaranthine, we're heading north to the Mother." He paused, debating with himself to ask whether there were any questions, finally deciding that he wouldn't give them the option. You went out…you fought Darkspawn…It was fairly straightforward.

In any case, led by Captain Garavel, the occupants of the room were already beginning to file out. As he hoped, Merran stayed behind.

"Would you mind if we kept Cullen with us?" she asked. "She has a calming influence on the children."

"Of course. If you hadn't asked I would have suggested it."

She touched the Griffon on his chestplate. "I'd like to think Duncan would be proud," she whispered. "I know I am…"

"Look Merran…"

"I understand Alistair," she reassured him. She lifted her head, smiling at him. "I know we'll look back – after we've gone and kicked some broodmother's arse – and think…'hm, well it was difficult, but at least we looked _fabulous…_in our very special Grey Warden roll-neck pullovers with Griffon wings stitched onto the back…"

He rolled his eyes at her. "You're merciless, do you know that?"

"I'm just thinking about the future."

"Oh? You think there is a future now? What made you change your stubborn, unconvinceable mind?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. _Stubborn? Hello Pot, meet Mr Kettle…_Still, she reached up with both arms, dragging his head down for a very wet and slightly muddy kiss.

"Maybe I just believe in you."

"That's an awfully big leap of faith, my love."

"You know…" she said softly. "It isn't, really…it's barely a hop…"

-oo-


	28. Joining

A/N: Some fluff…and more rain…you have been warned (again). I wanted to get this out on a particular day in February, but…meh…

Just remember – true love is a _Mabari_…or a block of cheese.

-oo-

**Chapter 28 – Joining**

_Maker, I hate my job…_

He'd gone down to the Smithy to look over the men that Garavel had managed to 'recruit'. It had been a terrifying experience. The men were keen, but they were only farmers, used to wielding pitchforks or scythes. Most of them had selected weapons more like their farming tools – those were the implements they were most comfortable with, after all – but unless the Darkspawn suddenly turned into a wolf or a fox, or a particularly nasty and persistent weed, he had serious concerns. He'd almost sent them home except that Garavel had promised to take them under his wing and put them through some rudimentary training…very quickly.

He wasn't feeling particularly confident they were up to the task.

At least the rain had let up a little, which wasn't saying much. He still got soaked to the skin sprinting the short distance from Master Wade's workshop to the Keep. Kristoff was waiting for him in the main hall this time. The other Grey Warden had dried off; and was thankfully _not _wearing one of Merran's grey knitted hats, which was something – at least - of a relief.

"Seneschal Varel and the two recruits are ready for the Joining, Warden Commander," Kristoff informed him as the two men fell into step across the wide space. It was tempting to stop and warm himself by the blazing brazier, but the sooner they put Sigrun and Velanna through the Joining, the better.

"May I ask how the 'other recruits' look, Ser?" Kristoff added.

Alistair groaned inwardly. _Does everyone have to be so formal around me?_ _I do actually have a name…_

"If you mean the farmers and labourers…" he told Kristoff with a shake of his head. "I'd be happier if they just stayed with the women and children…We're fighting Darkspawn, not harvesting corn…" _or whatever it is they grow around here…_

Kristoff chuckled; a deep, oddly cheerful sound that took Alistair by surprise. He didn't normally associate laughter with the grizzled, stubbled-headed man. He was finding out a lot about his Second in Command in a very short space of time.

"I think you would be surprised, Warden Commander" Kristoff said. "I have come to know Fereldan farmers well. They build strong bodies working in the fields. Where they might lack battle experience or combat technique, they make up for in strength and stamina. And these people aren't just fighting because they've been trained to do so. They fight to protect their livelihoods. That's a very strong incentive. I know I would certainly think twice about taking on a man wielding a scythe armed with only my great sword."

_Well…if you say so,_ Alistair thought; though he was still not convinced. Leaving Merran in the hands of such people still filled him with dread…

Speaking of…Merran was in Varel's office, chatting amiably to Sigrun; the two of them laughing when they arrived; a welcome sight on such a grim, dark day. He couldn't help smiling at the two of them though Merran stopped giggling at the sight of him, frowning in disapproval at his dishevelled state. Yes, he knew his hair was plastered to his head. Yes, he knew his beard probably had a twig in it and yes, he also knew he was dripping muddy water onto Varel's clean rug. He was also starting to smell like a damp cellar, but _it couldn't be helped._

He turned to Varel. "Shall we begin?"

The Seneschal gave a nod. He recited the Joining speech and handed the goblet first to Sigrun. She sniffed at the goblet, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

"Bad vintage…" she muttered before taking a mouthful, handing it back to Varel. As soon as the Seneschal took the goblet back, her eyes rolled back into her head and she dropped like a small armoured stone. Merran rushed to her side.

"She's still breathing," Merran her touched her chest, as though by doing so she would be able to slow a too-fast heartbeat. "She's all right."

Velanna glanced at Sigrun's sleeping form before practically snatching the goblet from Varel's hands. She took a sip as well, grimacing at the taste, then she too fell backwards with a loud thump.

"Also okay," Merran pronounced with a second relieved sigh. She turned to Varel. "Will you keep watch Robert? I know it's late, but…"

"I will, Warden."

"Thank you." She stood up and stomped her way over to Alistair. "Right," she said, folding her arms and scowling up at him. "Now this is over…You. Come with me." Then she stomped to the door and threw it open. "Good night Markus. Good night Robert." She glared at Alistair. "Warden Commander?"

Annoyed at being addressed by one of his titles, Alistair hesitated. Of all people…to be called Warden Commander by Merran…even if it annoyed him more that she was ordering him around in front of both his second in command and his Seneschal…And what if he still had business to complete with his men? It was the outside of enough…Still he followed, glowering at her as he passed her in the doorway. Once the door was closed behind them and they had started down the passageway, he growled his disgruntlement at her.

"You know, I _am _still Warden Commander…_and _the Arl…"

"Yes!" she snapped. "I know! And you're going to catch your death – no stupid comments, Alistair! – sitting around sopping wet and freezing cold."

She was right. He could really do with being warmed up and dried off. He'd forgotten when he'd last been able to feel his toes or his fingers and his ears _hurt _from the cold, but he wasn't about to admit it.

"You can't turn my armour into a funny colour or change my feet into flippers," he retorted. "_You_ don't scare me any more."

"You're not going to do anyone a favour if you go into battle tired, sick or hungry!" she hissed at him, because they were now in the sleeping quarters, close to their rooms and people were _sleeping_. "You're not seriously thinking of staying up all night!"

_Well, no…_But he wasn't going to admit that either. He was tired, chilled and hungry again but her stating the obvious made him feel like being contrary. He wanted to goad her, just to see how far she would go. It was a golden moment for him. She was just an ordinary Mage now and he could unleash all his Templar abilities on her just like any other ordinary Mage. It was probably unfair, being just as tired and anxious and worried as all hell about the safety of the people in the Keep, but while discomfort shortened his temper, it broadened his curiosity. What _would _a mage formerly used to turning people randomly into crawling things _do _when she was properly riled? Plus he was _enjoying _the fact that she was concerned for his welfare.

"What if I am?" he shot back, sounding even to his own ears, childish and stupid. "There's a lot of work yet to be done, Merran. If I don't do it, who will?"

"You can _delegate,_ Alistair!" Her hands curled into fists by her sides and her eyes were spitting sparks. He'd missed that. The fire in her eyes when she was angry at him – or anyone really, it didn't necessarily have to be him. "And you…"

The closest door opened to a tousled blonde head, trailing a blanket. Cullen poked her nose through the door next to Brogan, giving them both a scolding huff.

"Noisy, mummy…" Brogan rubbed his eyes with tiny fists. Merran immediately dropped to her knees, apologising profusely while she hugged him tightly. Over her shoulder, Brogan looked up at Alistair and poked his tongue at him. Alistair glared at the boy…so _this _one wasn't above a bit of winding Merran around his little Dwarven finger…_Ah-ha,_ he thought darkly. _I am so onto you, brat…_

"Cullen says the bad men will come soon…" Brogan said, screwing up his nose and giving her a watery sniffle. "They'll come and take my mummy again…"

"Oh, no, no, no…" Merran reassured him, picking him up blanket and all. She stepped into the room. Alistair leant against the wall, folding his arms prepared to wait, when a sharp voice inside commanded him, "Alistair! Get in here!"

Rolling his eyes, he too entered the room. He saw Cullen had dragged one of his furs to this room so she could sleep by Brogan's bed. _Traitor…_Merran had put the child back in bed, tucking him in so tight it was a wonder the thing could breathe.

"What's that sodding nug humper doing in my room?" Brogan growled at him.

"Hush Brogan, this is the Warden Commander and the Arl," Merran threw him look that said, _stop looming…!_ "You should be polite."

"I don't like him," Brogan stated stubbornly. "He looks stoopid."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Merran stroked Brogan's hair soothingly. "He's only pretending to look stupid," she told him knowledgeably.

"Nah…" Brogan said confidently. "He's stoopid."

Behind Merran, Alistair bristled and loomed some more until she reached back and took his hand, tugging him closer to the bed. Cullen had rolled up into a mound of fur on the rug, her rear end almost indistinguishable from her front. Her eyes opened briefly to stare up at him in canine exasperation. He bristled at her too – distracted when Merran brought his hand up to her cheek.

"He's a Grey Warden," she told the boy persuasively. "You like Grey Wardens, don't you?"

Brogan sniffed, as though he didn't believe the stupid-looking wet man could be one of _those._ Alistair helpfully curled his lip at him under his chilly moustache. _Annoying, snotty-nosed brat…_

"He's killed _three _dragons."

Alistair looked down at Merran, eyebrows raised. It hadn't been _three_ exactly. The third one had been defeated by Merran…"A hundred Ogres…" she added. He thought over that one too. _Hm…that might be accurate…_"And _millions _of Darkspawn…" _Now hang on…no, no, wait…that might be correct too._

Brogan regarded him with a sceptical eye. "I don't like him," he stated simply.

Alistair leant down and growled, "I don't like you either."

"You _smell _funny."

"You smell even funnier."

"And you look stoopid."

"Not as stoopid as you."

Brogan fought a smile and lost. "I'm not stoopid…" he said on a wide yawn. "You're stoopider."

"That's not even a word, stupid." This time the boy giggled, wriggling down further under the blanket until only his two eyes showed, his blond hair sticking up behind his head on the pillow like feathers, muttering, "Ya dumb nug…" on another yawn. Then he simply rolled over and fell asleep. _Just like that…_Alistair blinked in amazement, wishing he had that ability. To just accept and then poof! Out like a light in a deep, unshakeable sleep.

Merran leant over and kissed the top of the boy's head. Standing up, she gazed on him with a soft look on her face. "He's such a dear…" she whispered affectionately. By this time, Alistair's eyebrows had joined with his hairline. _A dear…? _He wouldn't put it _that _way…

With a sigh she reached down and gave Cullen a little pat, then tugged him out of the room, not that he wasn't happy to leave it.

"You know," Alistair began, once she had closed the door behind them. "I'm sure there are some good schools in Ferelden you could send him too – ouch! – it was _just _a suggestion!"

"That wouldn't have hurt," she reminded him. "You're still in your disgusting armour and _no, _I am certainly _not _sending him away. How would you like it if…well you _were _sent away weren't you? How did you feel?"

"Grateful I didn't have to listen to the harpy the Arl was married to," he told her with a grin. "Ouch! You're very violent tonight."

"I'm practising for the Darkspawn…" she told him haughtily. She pointed down the hallway. "Go. Now. Your room."

He stopped, wondering how far he could push his luck when she was in a mood like this…not that it wasn't his fault she was…"I'll need help with my armour…"

She sighed. "Silly, I was going to help you anyway. You look like you're about to fall over."

"I'll need a bath."

"I had it filled, but it's probably gone cold by now."

"Will you scrub my back?"

"Are you channelling Zevran?" she asked, hands on hips. "You are, you…Ooh! If you're not careful I'll be forced to say a rude word and then you'll be sorry!" She bustled him onwards, the two of them practically falling through the door to his room. It was just as well she was there to help him with the armour. His fingers were so stiff with cold, he could barely feel where the buckles were, much less undo them, watching her struggle herself and enjoying himself immensely as she helped to remove his armour, tired as he was. He did defrost enough to help her put the armour into a pile outside. In her usual efficient way, she had arranged for one of the Keep's servants to have it cleaned and inspected by Wade – if the man was still awake. She didn't however, help him out of the sopping underpadding, leaving that to him to peel off in the wet room.

She had indeed had the bath filled. The water was tepid, but as it was still several degrees warmer than he was, it was a blessing to sink into it. He had just been about to submerge himself completely when he heard her warning, "And for goodness sake, please don't fall asleep in the bath. I don't want to find you drowned when I come back." _Eh? Come back?_

"Where are you going?" he called after her – but there was no answer, so he dunked himself under the water anyway.

He emerged feeling a great deal better, leaning his arms against the edge of the bath. He must have fallen asleep, as the next thing he knew, he was being shaken.

"What did I tell you?" she scolded.

"Nag," he blinked blearily at her. Yawning, he climbed out of the bath, standing buck-naked in the middle of the room and feeling slightly disoriented. She threw a cloth over his head.

"Do you think you can manage something to eat?" she asked. "Bronwyn kept some pea stew warm for you." _Oh yeah, Bronwyn's famous Ferelden lamb and pea stew…_It was the same one that he had made so many times when they had been travelling, although the Keep's cook made hers somewhat differently. She used real lamb, for a start and spent hours shelling a small mountain of peas that she simmered separately and added last. It was the wrong colour and had potatoes in it as well as carrots and other green things that he was sure were bad for him, but it did taste damn good. He dried off and entered the room, finding her already in bed.

"Andraste's burning sword, it's cold!" she said, reaching down to drag a fur across her feet.

Alistair ate standing, watching her wrestle with the bed clothes. It might be the last time he saw her…He and the rest of the Amaranthine group would be leaving in a few short hours…anything could happen to either of them. He should be used to it by now – the separation, the doubt, the worry; wondering whether either would survive their next battle – but he wasn't. It felt worse. All those months when he'd been without her, he'd slipped into a jagged rhythm that – while difficult – kept him going. Since she'd come back…every time they'd had to part it was like Fort Drakon all over again. Magnified.

"Merran…"

"I wish Cullen hadn't taken the last…sorry?"

"Could you…do me a favour?"

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "You should really get some _sleep_ tonight," she told him.

He waggled his spoon at her. "Get your mind out of the gutter," he suggested. "No, there's a box on the table over there. Could you fetch it for me?"

She looked around and spotted the wooden box on the other side. Without getting out from under the covers, she wiggled across the bed and picked it up. Holding it aloft, she asked. "What do you want with it? Does it have your shaving stuff in it or something?"

"No," he said, finishing the last of the stew. "Just open it for me will you?"

"Oh sure…" He half turned, replacing the bowl onto the tray, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She lifted the tiny catch and raised the lid, starting a little at the contents of the box. "Golly…" she breathed. "It's beau…" She looked up at him suddenly, her mouth ajar. "Is this…?" She looked back down to the rose in the box. "It can't be…it just _looks _like it…No, it can't be."

"It is," he told her. She gaped at him again. He'd had it remade – again – this time by Master Wade. It hadn't taken too much persuasion, though time _had _been an issue. The bud was still kept intact, but he'd had Wade turn the stem into a necklace. The master smith had outdone himself. He was used to creating works of art on armour, but had strayed just a little from his normal craft, spinning such fine filigree out of the stem it looked as though the rose was suspended from a spider web of stars.

"Do you remember Sandal?" he asked her. She nodded silently. "I had him convert the original rose into metal and lyrium." _Well…it was a complicated process that I couldn't understand anyway._ "And Master Wade finished it into a necklace."

"Well, it's lovely Alistair." She began to close the box; his hand darting out to stop her.

"It's for you."

"Me?" She gave a small, uncomfortable laugh. Chewing on her lower lip, she added. "I can't accept this Alistair. It's much too fine."

"What?"

"No one's ever given anything like this to me before…I mean, I don't mean to be ungrateful but…It's just too beautiful…What if I break it or lose it or…"

"Well…" he said reasonably. "Think of it as a, I don't know…a…a wedding gift."

He could see her mouthing the words to herself. When she turned, frowning, he was already kneeling – except that the sheet he'd wrapped around his middle had gotten snagged on his foot when he'd lowered himself onto the one knee and had come undone, falling to the floor. He pressed on regardless.

"Marry me, Merran."

She blinked furiously at him, trying very hard not to laugh.

"I love you," he told her. "You know that and I don't want to be with anyone else. I can't imagine being with anyone else. I know we've joked about this before, but this time I'm serious. Marry me. Be my wife. The Arlessa…Mrs Warden Commander, whatever. Just say you will."

She rolled onto her stomach, almost eye to eye with him. "Well this is…" she shook her head at him. "This is definitely…huh. You know, I've never been proposed to by a naked man before," she told him with mock seriousness. "It's…a…I think I like it."

"Is that a yes?" he asked. "It had better be."

She turned actually serious this time. Refusing to meet his eyes, she asked in a small voice, "You really think that the two of us could…"

"_Yes._ I do."

Merran looked at him then, _really_ looked at him. She reached out slowly, touching his cheek. "In that case," she told him, the frown replaced by a widening smile. "Yes."

Whether or not she kissed him then, or he kissed her, he didn't much care, crawling under the blankets with her, lip-locked, because it was damned cold on the bare stone floor and he didn't want to turn back into the human ice-block. All he could think of was _yes…!_ _Mine…all mine…and about bloody time too…_

-oo-


	29. Amaranthine

-oo-

**Chapter 29 – Amaranthine**

"Excuse me, Your Grace…"

Alistair turned. "Varel…?"

The Amaranthine party had been about to leave. The rain, surprisingly and thankfully had ceased, but the ground was a quagmire. It would be hard going to the port city. Hopefully their group would be recognisable by the time they turned up to the city gate. Covered head to toe in mud might get them mistaken for Darkspawn themselves.

"Do you have any last instructions for me Your Grace?"

Alistair smiled his lopsided smile at the Seneschal. "Don't die," he told the older man.

Varel spread his arms wide. "That goes without saying…and I would ask you to do the same, Your Grace."

Alistair sighed. "You know, you _can _call me Alistair. Just once in a while…" He leant closer. "I promise I won't tell…"

The Seneschal appeared to look offended, but the hint of a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Standards must be maintained…Your Grace."

_I guess I'll just keep chipping away at this one then…_Alistair thought.

"Oh, by the way, Bob" Alistair said casually, inspecting the buckles on his gauntlets. "I'm getting married."

Varel's silver caterpillar eyebrows had already risen at the shortening of his name to 'Bob'. Even his own mother – Maker rest her soul – had never called him that. They twitched higher on this piece of news.

"Married? Then allow me to congratulate you Your Grace. This is wonderful news."

The Warden Commander gave a small, boyish laugh. "Yeah…it is." _Hah! I'm getting married…that's just brilliant…_"Um…" He didn't quite know how to put it. All those years spent at the monastery learning Chantry rules and Chantry history and the Chant of Light and…other stuff and he had no idea how to go about real life things, like…how to buy a horse (if he was ever inclined to do so, which he doubted), or even better, how to sell one (which was even less likely considering he was never going to purchase one in the first place…)

"Do you wish me to make the necessary arrangements, Your Grace?" Varel asked, understanding the pause. He had to keep reminding himself how _young _the new Arl was. Despite how the Blight had appeared to have aged the man, he was still a boy in his eyes.

"You could do that?" Alistair asked, a trifle _too _hopefully.

"I am here to serve and assist, Your Grace," Varel assured him confidently

"Well, that's just dandy, Bobbin!" Alistair exclaimed in relief. "Can we do it for a week's time?"

"No," Varel told him, trying not to laugh at the younger man's crestfallen expression. "There are certain observances that must first be…"

"Observed." Alistair ran a gloved hand through his hair. "Yeah, I get it. So if not for a week's time, the week after?"

"Here I must disappoint you again, Your Grace. I can try for a month, at the earliest."

"A month…!"

"By law, the banns must be posted, a licence obtained and as Arl, both the Bannorn and the King must be advised."

"I don't have to seek his permission do I?" Alistair asked, horrified.

"No, Your Grace," Varel assured him. "This is merely part of the formal process required of a man of your position; a courtesy. I'm afraid…"

"Can't we just send around a note afterwards, or something?" Alistair interrupted, but Varel's expression remained implacable. "A month? Really…? A _month_…"

"Is there…? Are there circumstances requiring a hasty union…?" Varel asked as tactfully as could.

"Circumstances…?" Alistair repeated blankly.

Varel cleared his throat. Lowering his voice, he asked, "The…your betrothed is not…are there extenuating…How do I put this? She is not…_expecting_?"

"Expecting what?" Alistair began before the copper dropped and then every exposed bit of his skin turned as scarlet as the sunrise. "Oh…no, no, no! _NO._ We're…we're Grey Wardens, Robbie, we don't do that sort of thing!"

"I _see_…." Varel said, making his scepticism quite plain.

"Well, anyway," Alistair said quickly. "A month. That's great. That'll be just perfect. I'll just leave it to you then – and I'll – we'll just get going…Darkspawn to kill, the world to save. Again. You know how it is."

"Certainly, Your Grace."

"Right. Um. Have a nice day." Alistair wiggled his fingers at his Seneschal, keen to escape as far away as possible. _Andraste's simmering stockings…I am so thick!_ Turning away quickly, the Warden Commander and Arl of Amaranthine made a hasty departure, moving so rapidly out of the Keep, he took the rest of the party by surprise; Kristoff, Nathaniel and the others having to snatch their gear and jog after him. After he had disappeared into the morning mist, Varel heard a soft chuckle behind him.

"After all this time, he still gets embarrassed by that," she laughed. "It's so cute."

Varel wondered whether he would spend the rest of his tenure at Vigils Keep permanently surprised. Cute? Hm…

"And may I offer my congratulations to you too, Warden Merran?" Varel said.

"You may, thank you…" Merran chuckled. "_Bobbin_."

Varel rolled his eyes, then turned, frowning in concern. "You don't…really need…There is no urgency, I hope?" Merran shook her head.

"No Varel. But I did want to speak to you about…some other things?"

"Oh?"

"I'd like to legally adopt Brogan…being a dwarf; are there certain things we need to do? Do we need to try and track down living relatives and ask for their permission or go to Orzammar…? I don't know…but…considering our current situation, that's probably a discussion for another day."

Varel smiled. "Certainly, Warden. I will make some enquiries. As for the current situation?"

She smiled. A slow smile that turned her eyes into curving half-moons and made dimples appear in her cheeks. "Hm…Yes. You see, I have this idea that just won't leave me alone…"

-oo-

The Amaranthine party arrived by lunchtime. They didn't need to be Grey Wardens to know there were Darkspawn already in the city. From the road several spirals of smoke ascended into the pale, rain-washed sky. A breeze from the Amaranthine Ocean blew inland, bringing along with it the smell of the ocean, but also the stench of burning flesh and scorched wood and stone and the rotting, foul odour of Darkspawn.

"Maker's breath, are we too late?" Nathaniel exclaimed, unslinging his longbow.

"Let's hope not," Alistair grunted, eyes scanning the city gate for Aidan's men. There were cries that carried on the sea breeze; human cries. "Right," he tossed over his shoulder. "You know the layout of the city. We make for the Chantry."

"Oh, must we?" Anders complained.

"It's the highest point in the city," Alistair glared at the Mage. If someone's going to make a last stand, it'll be there – and you can bet the others will be there defending it. Keep your eyes out for survivors through the town. If we can lead them to safety, all the better." He pinned Anders with an extra stern gaze. "Anders, if at all possible, I want you to save your magic for healing; people, us, whatever. If Wynne is still here, she'll need your help."

"Oh very well," Anders conceded with a sigh, "but Merran's better at healing on the run than I am – you should have persuaded _her _to come along."

"Really?" Alistair asked, surprised, before he could stop himself.

"Well, yes," Anders responded. "And by the way, I thought I remembered her from the Tower. 'Greagoir's Pet' we used to call her."

As chatting outside the city gate wasn't going to help anyone, Alistair had begun moving the party inside the city itself, following the trail of destruction and mayhem.

"Don't you mean 'Irving's Pet'?" Alistair threw over his shoulder. A handful of Hurlocks burst out at them. He sliced through two of them in one stroke, walking over their bodies for the next one, only to find Sigrun there before him, removing its kneecaps with her battle axe. "Irving is the First Enchanter, isn't he?"

"Hah!" Anders called from behind a barrel before sending a flame ball down the street, knocking over the wave of Darkspawn like a set of skittles. Through the ensuing fire came an Ogre, bristling with armour and swinging a massive claymore. Nathaniel sent two arrows accurately into its eye sockets in quick succession while Alistair launched himself at the beast, removing its head from its armoured shoulders as it clawed at its face.

"No." Anders appeared beside him. "I mean _Greagoir._ Apparently she was special in some way and needed supervision." The Mage shrugged. "She was a creepy little thing." Anders caught his Warden Commander's expression and waved his hands in defence. "I mean in a good way – a _good _way…Maker…she used to be able to explode _chickens_ before she could talk properly…" He held up his hands again. "I mean in a good way. Chicken stew – mm-mm – yum."

"So…" Sigrun muscled her way between the two men, her axe perched on her shoulder. "This is a human city, huh? Smells like fish. They all like this?"

"How can you tell?" Anders yelled after her as she kept going, her axe spinning in the air knocking arrows out of it as she charged an Emissary. "All I can smell is Darkspawn!"

"Darkspawn…fish…It's all the same to me!" Sigrun told him cheerfully, skipping up to the Emissary. The air crackled around it and it staggered, hit by one of Alistair's Holy Smites. Taking advantage of this distraction, Sigrun carved it up, her axe blurring mid-air. Alistair inspected her handiwork as she moved on to a group of Genlocks.

"Wow…" Anders nodded his head, impressed. "She carved the letter 'S' into it. Now that's what I call _style_." He looked up and the two of them continued on, pausing briefly to stitch a deep slice across Kristoff's cheek and shield bash a Genlock respectively. "Of course, Greagoir wasn't Knight Commander then."

"No?" Alistair asked, finishing off the Genlock by dividing it into two. He considered trying to slice it with the letter 'A', but it would have taken him too long with the strokes. Brogan would have laughed at him…_Maker, I hope they're all right…_

"Chantry child," Anders explained briefly, setting Nathaniel's arrows aflame. "Showed magic at a young age." A dozen Darkspawn came at them around the corner and he was forced to freeze half of them and paralyse the rest so their tiny party could deal with them. "Yeah, yeah, I know," Anders flexed his fingers. "'Save my magic for healing'…But she used to…I don't know…I'd been in the tower only a year when I found out about her. She had some kind of weird connection to the Fade. I never found out what it was though." He stepped behind Alistair as his Warden Commander brought his shield up to deflect a blow from yet another Ogre.

"Not…surprised…" Alistair grunted as his knees buckled under the force of the blow. "She was born Tainted!"

Anders gathered his magic for another fireball, hands spitting fire when Kristoff appeared out of seemingly nowhere, his greatsword finding a gap under the Ogre's armour and cracking it open like a clam shell. Alistair rolled just in time to avoid being flattened as the Ogre fell.

"Seems to be quite a few of these in the city," Kristoff frowned, before he continued his way down the main street.

"Tainted from birth?" Anders exclaimed. "I didn't know that could even happen. Well, _that _explains the spookiness…Oh look!" he pointed, distracted suddenly. "The Rose and Crown. Anyone feel like a bit of a tipple later?"

Alistair grabbed Anders by the back of his robes and dragged him backwards, annoyed by the 'spookiness' comment. Yes, it was true, but only _he _was allowed to call Merran 'spooky'. There were distinct areas of demarcation that needed to be upheld here…

He growled over Anders' protests, "Oh look, the Chantry of The Lady With The Burning Smallclothes. Anyone feel like a blessing or a tithe _now_?"

"I think I'll pass," Anders said holding up a hand. "Or…" he added as Alistair showed no signs of releasing him, or stop glowering at him. "I can find my place in this great, wide, wonderful universe by improving my relationship with the Maker and his oh so sexy, bowl-wielding prophet."

Alistair rolled his eyes. Nathaniel approached, leading a handful of exhausted-looking soldiers.

"Oh, you're the Warden Commander!" the lead soldier exclaimed.

"Where are the others?" Alistair demanded.

"The Chantry, Ser," the soldier replied shakily. "We still have some men up in the battlements…I think…They came out of nowhere, Ser – thousands of them…We weren't prepared…"

"Then we'll head up to the Chantry," Alistair cut the man off, though he did give the him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He turned to Kristoff. "Take Nate and Sigrun with you to the battlements. Round up as many soldiers as you can and we'll do another sweep through the city…._Maker!"_

They'd cleared the remains of the merchants' stalls and were able to have a clearer view of the Chantry approach. The entire terraced square was seething with Darkspawn.

Anders sidled up to his Warden Commander. "So…You still want me to save my magic for healing?"

"I…think…" Alistair grimaced. The Darkspawn had noticed them and had begun a stampede towards them. "...maybe later…" _Where in Andraste's name are the others, _he thought desperately. "Right, Wardens – to me! Form a circle – Anders! – in the middle and try not to scorch us too much…" he bellowed, the last of his words drowned in the tidal wave of Darkspawn as the surge of their charge broke upon the cluster of Grey Wardens.

The circle; unsurprisingly was the first to break; Alistair forced backwards by the sheer numbers of Darkspawn as they came at him multiples at a time. He spun, unable to see his Wardens for Hurlocks, Genlocks, Shrieks and more of the armoured Ogres.

"FOR THE GREY WARDENS!" he bellowed, trying to give his Wardens an audible point of reference. Digging in his heels - and by force of his own will – he inched forward, gathering momentum. A blast of fire razed the right side of his face, singeing his beard. _Right…Anders is alive…for the moment…_He swung around, Darkspawn ichor running down his arm, the blade of his longsword no longer silver, but black.

"This how you show a girl a good time?" a cheerful voice whizzed past him, perched on the top of an Ogre, _steering _it with the careful application of her battle axe to crush surrounding Darkspawn. Alistair followed in their wake, his longsword a blur. The three of them broke through to the other side, at the foot of the Chantry steps, Sigrun finishing off her ride by cleaving the beast's skull in two. She leapt down lightly as the thing went down in a loud clatter, and then the two of them turned and dove back into the horde; Sigrun spinning like a miniature, bladed windmill, Alistair's shield blocking blows from above, carving a path to the centre of the battle. He was barely aware of shouts from above, barely registering Darkspawn dropping from archery fire, until he realised he couldn't move from the centre of the fight, for the bodies that lay around him. Darkspawn flew left and right; the ground rumbled under heavy feet. A shadow fell across him and he looked up wearily, expecting to see yet another Ogre. Instead, he came face to chest with a gore-splattered, glowing-eyed golem.

"Pa…thetic…" Shale drawled. "They don't make Darkspawn like they used to…" she added conversationally. "So _breakable…_Not that I'm complaining as such…"

"Commander…" Kristoff waded through the ocean of dead bodies towards him, greatsword held aloft, unless he met with movement at his feet and then the greatsword plunged downwards, despatching still-alive Darkspawn to whatever god they worshipped. It was only then that Alistair gave himself the luxury of looking around. He spotted Nathaniel – perched on top of the roof of the Crown and Lion, picking off the last of the Darkspawn. Most had started to flee, having realised the bulk of their comrades were no more. At the edge of the mound of bodies, Anders was escorting a young female soldier, his arm around her waist as he helped her across the sea of carnage.

"That was impressive."

Zevran didn't try navigating between bodies. He merely tripped over the top of them, bouncing lightly from carcass to carcass like a golden grasshopper. He spotted Sigrun and sketched a courtly bow.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Zevran, 'Zev' to my friends, and might I say what an elegant way you have of wielding a battle axe."

"Oh, you may, all you like," Sigrun said with a wide grin. "Nice tattoos by the way."

"I have quite a collection," Zevran oozed charm. Only he could manage to be suave surrounded by stinking Darkspawn bodies. "Perhaps I could show you sometime."

"I suppose you have a collection of etchings you'd like me to have a look at too?" Sigrun beamed, enjoying herself immensely.

"Not…yet…" Zevran purred. "But it can be arranged…"

Shaking his head at the two of them, Alistair turned towards the Chantry. He thumped Shale affectionately on her shoulder. "Is Wynne in the Chantry? Is she all right?"

"Oh yes," Shale replied. "And enjoying ordering the other squishies about."

He exhaled a breath of relief. Kristoff close behind him, Alistair began his way up the long stone stairs to the Chantry. Before he was half way up, the doors opened and a familiar white-haired figure appeared on the front step. Alistair raced upwards, vaulting three steps at a time. Heedless of her protests, he scooped the elderly Mage in blood-smeared arms, spinning her around.

"For the Maker's sake, Alistair…put me down…!"

Alistair ignored her, hugging the older woman tightly. "I'm getting married, Wynne! Me! Married! I asked her – and she said yes – YES!"

He finally placed her back on the ground. The City Guard were emerging from the battlements and hidey holes, along with the citizens of Amaranthine. A cheer started – hesitant at first because folk were still taking in the inordinately large pile of bodies in the Chantry square and trying to understand what it meant – small applause, building into an enthusiastic chorus of _huzzahs!_ that travelled all around the city's perimeter.

Chuckling, Wynne patted his cheek. "Oh, you are a mess, young man…but I am happy for you." She looked past him and around the square. "But where is she? Did she not accompany you?"

"She's…she stayed behind to defend the Keep, Wynne. They expected to be attacked too, but I had to come here, and now we have to go elsewhere, to slay an even bigger foe…Wynne – what if I made a bad choice? What if I've deserted her to her death? After I've just found her again?"

Wynne's eyebrows rose. The lad had survived a massacre, led an army against the Archdemon and survived. On top of all that he had just defeated another horde of Darkspawn and saved a city and yet all it took was one, diminutive Mage to undo him…

"Oh, my son…" she murmured. "What does your heart tell you?"

Alistair looked into her earnest blue eyes. He heard the cheers; it was background noise, as people left the Chantry and other places, clapping him on the back and attempting to shake his hand.

_I've given her the rose. After all these years, I've given her the rose. "Urthemiel said it was a gift…" she had told him, but what was the gift? _She had released the Old God from its chains of slavery. How grateful would an Old God be? Sending her back to perform one more task before taking her life away again?

"Alistair?" Wynne called his name softly.

"To believe…" he told her. The Old God did something to the Taint within them. Both of them…Merran was still alive when she should be dead. She was hale and hearty when she should be dying. She no longer had her magic enhanced by the Taint passed on to her by an unknown parent. It could have been Duncan – it could even have been Riordan – anyone. He _liked _to think it was Duncan – for Duncan's sake as well as his own. Duncan should have family surviving him; and to be with the daughter of his most beloved mentor and friend, that was worth preserving. That was worth believing in…

"You know Wynne, have I told you about my dream…?" he asked her. It would come true. He would make sure it would come true. Because life without his scary Mage…that wasn't living…

-oo-


	30. Into the Lair

-oo-

**Chapter 30 – Into the Lair**

They were attacked again that evening, scotching plans to strike northwards straight away for the Mother's Lair. They had gathered more refugees into the Chantry and Aidan's guards were slightly more prepared the second time around, despite their numbers being far fewer than when the first wave of Darkspawn appeared. The archers in his party Alistair had sent to the battlements; the Grey Warden strength bolstered by Shale being with them from the start. By dawn the Darkspawn had once more been vanquished but everyone except the Wardens were exhausted.

"Can we leave these people here, undefended while we seek out the Mother?" Kristoff asked Alistair, when quiet had once more descended upon Amaranthine. "How many more waves of Darkspawn will she send?"

"If we don't defeat the Mother," Alistair reasoned, "there _will_ be more Darkspawn. She's the source of these attacks." He looked across the city, beyond the scorched stone walls. "I'm counting on her knowing that we're heading her way. With any luck, she'll withdraw her troops to defend herself." _I'm also counting on some of those Darkspawn coming back from Vigils Keep as well…_

"And you think this Architect will help?" Kristoff added. "He does not appear to have numbers on his side."

_It'll be better than nothing…_Alistair thought. Out loud, he told his Warden. "Yes, I do."

"The Dragonbone Wastes…" Kristoff muttered, his gaze on the Chantry to the far corner of the city. "The place where dragons go to die…Why there, of all places?"

"I guess we'll find that out when we get there." Alistair paused, following Kristoff's line of sight. "By the way, did you find your…?"

"Yes, thank the Maker," Kristoff said with obvious relief. "Aura was already in the Chantry when the Darkspawn attacked." He turned to his Warden Commander. "I understand Nathaniel found his sister alive and well."

"Yes. I met her," Alistair said briefly, starting to make plans in his head for departing north soon. What was Nate's sister's name? Delilah…There had been little family resemblance between the two siblings. Luckily for her, she had not inherited the Howe nose. He had yet to meet Kristoff's wife, but Anders had not shut up about her.

"As soon as we have enough light," he told the other Warden. "We leave."

"And do you think the others will join us?" Kristoff asked.

Alistair turned away. He doubted very much whether Merran and the others would leave the Keep to join up with them. He expected Merran would wish to stay with the Keep's people to make sure they were safe.

"They won't have time."

The sky glowed orange along the city's ramparts as the sun began to from the ocean. "You, however," Alistair said, "_will_ have the time to make your farewells to your family. I suggest you do so soon."

-oo-

The Dragonbone Wastes seemed a hop, skip and a jump from Soldier's Peak. Alistair wondered, as their party wandered through the bleak, alien landscape whether Avernus had ever considered coming here to try and tap into the stray magic dying dragons had left behind as the Tevinters had done so long ago. He had no idea how Ferelden Mages felt about using Tevinter artifacts, but his Templar instinct for detecting magic made him feel as though the very rock they stood on had absorbed magic over the centuries and aeons. The Mages had lived in a tower once used as a base for Tevinter magic, but the structure _had _been built originally by the Avvars…He considered asking Anders, but the deeper they travelled into the very un-Ferelden-like lands, the more ill-at-ease Anders looked. From time to time the Mage would shudder, give his head a shake or simply groan as though he were in pain. Thankfully, he had stopped complaining about how all the raw magic floating around made certain parts of him twitch. It was more information than anyone in the party needed to know.

Though…magic as an aphrodisiac…hm…maybe he would run that past Merran sometime…

Anders stopped suddenly, doubling over. "Maker…" he grunted. "I think I'm going to be very ill…oh wait, I already am." He straightened with difficulty, looking more than a little green. "Look, I'm just going to have to…" Not just his hands, but his entire body glowed before he sent a massive fireball over a rocky crest. By the time Alistair realised what he was about to do, it was too late.

"Are you mad?" Alistair hissed angrily, grabbing a handful of Mage robe, lifting Anders off his feet. "Are you trying to _announce _our arrival to the Darkspawn?"

"I was going to ask you to drain my mana," Anders said weakly, "but asking another guy…was just going to be too icky…"

Alistair released him. Anders stumbled to the ground rather awkwardly, grabbing his pack as he landed. It moved.

"Anders…"

"Look, I'm sorry okay? I'm really…"

Nathaniel, who had been scouting slightly ahead, gave a short shout, reappearing tapping out spot fires on his leather armour. "What the blazes was that about?" he growled. "You almost cooked me."

"Look, I'm really, really sorry, but I just had to…"

"There appears to be something in your pack," Alistair said suspiciously.

"Well," Nathaniel continued, "you also just burned a few people to death."

"_What_?" Anders and Alistair said together.

"It would have been an ambush," Nathaniel informed them. He threw something at the Warden Commander; Alistair snatched it out of the air. It was a horned helmet; slightly Darkspawnish except for the fact that the horns were composed of dragon teeth.

"Dragon Cultists," Alistair's mouth twisted. "They just pop up everywhere…like mushrooms…" He patted Anders on the back, appreciatively. "Nice going, 'sparkle-fingers'…"

Anders gave a weak smile, then doubled-over; abruptly splattering their feet with the partially digested contents of his stomach. He stood up to a gathering of disgusted expressions. "Can I just say sorry again…? Oh _knicker-weasels…!_" He bent over again, this time to pick up his pack from the ground. It dripped. Then it moved and made a _noise…_

"What the heck do you have in there?" Alistair demanded.

"Nothing," Anders said, keeping his pack out of reach of the Warden Commander. "Just a…just a magical aid…"

His pack mewled.

Alistair's eyes narrowed. "Do you have an _animal_ in your pack, Anders?"

Anders laughed nervously. "You know; if you were an attractive female, I could come up with all sorts of comebacks for that comment, but seeing as it's _you_ – I'm not going to bother…"

Alistair folded his arms impatiently across his chest. They did not have _time _for this…

"All right! All right!" Anders said, hugging the pack close. "I couldn't leave it in Amaranthine. Some Hurlocks were torturing the poor thing and I rescued it." The pack wriggled again and a small black nose poked out from under the flap, followed by a fluffy grey-striped face and two delta-shaped ears. "Yes," Anders told them. "If you're wondering, it's a cat."

"You're taking a _cat_ into batt…" Alistair began, breaking off with a shake of his head. "Fine, wonderful. Just make sure it doesn't get underfoot while we're fighting Darkspawn."

"Ser Pounce-A-Lot wouldn't get underfoot…" Anders cooed at the thing. "Will you…iddy-bitty-liddle-feller…?"

"And if we find out that the Mother has a dread terror of cats, we can always throw it at her!" Alistair hurled over his shoulder, causing a splutter from Anders and a torrent of reassurances made to the oblivious feline, pronounced in a sickly-sweet, sing-song voice that was intended to put his ex-Templar Warden Commander offside.

"Don't make me come back there and Holy Smite you, Anders!" Alistair added, finding Sigrun bumping into the back of him when he stopped suddenly. The back of his neck _itched. _Beside him, Kristoff had removed his greatsword from its scabbard. They could all feel the Darkspawn, but couldn't see them…yet. The path they had been following wound around the side of a hill past great forests of bone, bleached white by the sun and leached of any other colour by the elements. It ended at the remains of a once great tower of obvious Tevinter style. The Dwarves weren't the only ones that built in that kind of scale: big, bigger or ridiculously huge.

Alistair raised his sword when a shadow detached itself from the rock, lowering it only slightly when he recognised, not the tall, Emissary-like Darkspawn, but the Architect's messenger, skulking behind its master. Merran had tried to describe the Architect to him. She had told him he was a bit like a Sloth demon, a bit like General Loghain on an off day and a bit like a large, floating sackful of walnuts. Gazing upwards at the creature, Alistair was inclined to go with the walnut description. It didn't have any eyes, only shallow depressions where its eyes would have been. If a person had been carved out of wax and left too close to the fire and _melted,_ this is what it would have looked like, never mind the walnuts…

"You are the Warden Commander?" it stated.

"Yu-up…" Alistair replied. "That's me. Commander of Wardens and Warden Commander of Ferelden."

"He ain't commander of me," Anders grumbled, his muttering punctuated by a meow from his pack. "Ser Pounce-A-Lot agrees."

"Hm…interesting…" the Architect told him. "I did not think there would be another like the other Warden. _Most _interesting…"

"Yeah. Thanks," Alistair told him, "so…this Mother person…thing…whatsit…You'll take us to her now?"

"Impetuous, impatient, humans," the Architect said almost indulgently, as though addressing a roomful of naughty schoolboys who had just been caught peppering the classroom ceiling with spitballs. In fact, forget the melted wax human and the bag full of walnuts, the Architect reminded Alistair of old Ser Hunsley from his monastery days. Now _there _was a man that was quick (and accurate to a distance of five paces) with his chalk…They even looked alike too. Put the Architect in sagging, polished-to-paper-thin Templar armour and you'd think they had been separated at birth…

"Well, you know Ser Huns…uh, Mr…Architect…things to do, people to see," Alistair drawled. "Think I'm having lunch with the King later and I'd so _hate _to keep him waiting for his sammies and cold milk…"

The Architect gave the impression of _narrowed eyes,_ even though he had none to narrow. "Are you making fun of me, young man?" _Oh yes…definitely old chobber-chops Hunsley…_

"Making fun of you?" Alistair repeated. "Never! I wouldn't dare. I hate having to do lines. Anyway…"

"Because people _always _make fun of me in the end," the Architect sniffed pathetically. "Did they think I wouldn't hear them? Or find out? Last week, someone pasted a sign on my back saying 'kick me' – can you imagine? How dreadfully rude…I would certainly never dream of perpetrating such a childish and puerile act on anyone. All they had to do was simply approach me for a meaningful discussion. No one talks anymore. It's all flitting about the place, being impulsive. Where's the science in that, I ask you? Where?"

"So…" Alistair swallowed a yawn, "this Mother…"

"And she's no better, let me tell you. It was always 'let's wipe the human race off the face of this planet', never 'let's open up dialogue with the pathetic humans'. And she took the best settee."

"Settee?" Alistair murmured, wondering if they would get to the Mother before the end of the year.

"I loved that settee…Lovely green leather. You don't get leather like that anymore. It's all modern Orlesian silk these days. Does she even realise how difficult it is to get Childer effluence out of Orlesian silk? Highly impractical! And of course, the Childers _were _allowed onto it after playing in the tar pits. No discipline where they were concerned. She was always a bit indulgent where the grubs were involved…_Bless…_"

Alistair and the others had backed away, skirting the narrow opening to the Tevinter tower.

Once they were inside, they made a rapid descent through the connecting rooms to a circular stone stairwell, leaving the still-reminiscing Architect behind. It was almost a relief to hear the hooting of Darkspawn than the Architect's dulcet, educated tones – and how in the Maker's name did he get that way? Was there a Darkspawn College down here in the Deep Roads somewhere? Darkspawn achieve self-awareness and suddenly their enunciation of 'rain' and 'plain' is better than ex-Queen Anora's?

"I don't know about you fellows," Anders said, kicking at a stray standing stone. "But talking Darkspawn makes my head hurt."

"_Now _you know what it feels like talking to you," Sigrun said, poking Anders in the gut with the head of her axe.

"Hey," he whined. "What is this? Pick on Anders Day?"

"Every day is Pick on Anders Day…" Alistair muttered as he went past. _It makes a helluva nice change from Pick on Alistair Day…_back in the old Blight days. _Look at me, _he thought, charging into an Alpha Hurlock. _Reminiscing about the past like the Architect…I'll be complaining about the state of the rug next…_

The deeper the Warden party descended, the more diverse and interesting the Darkspawn became. Alistair found himself wishing Merran were here, so he could share his internal commentary with her. He knew he should be taking this seriously, but when a powerful Darkspawn talks to one about how he misses his favourite piece of furniture, reality and sobriety got thrown out of the window. And then they reached the lowest part of the tower.

Whether the Tevinters had just run out of energy or mortar, the ornate architecture ended abruptly here. A long stone bridge spanned what used to be an underground river, long since dried. The bridge ended in a wide cavernous grotto, the entire cave-scape dotted with Childer cocoons and lounging Darkspawn like delinquent teenagers…Alistair tried to count, but found the numbers in his head simply didn't go that high. There was movement at the end of the bridge around a large, bulbous object that he guessed to be the mother of all broodmothers.

"Oh, there you are!" a voice exclaimed behind them, making them all jump. And then the ground trembled, causing them all – besides the Architect – to attempt to hang on to something solid. "Now, as I was saying…" the Architect continued, sounding slightly more stern, "…before I was so rudely abandoned…Do take care in the lower levels of the Tower – the ground here, as I recall, is seismically unstable."

"We could all be buried here, alive?" Anders asked, terrified at the thought. He'd hadn't even managed to obtain that very pretty soldier's contact details yet…

"Oh most certainly," the Architect confirmed. "But never mind. Please be assured that should you perish, buried under millions of tons of rock and stone, your bodies will benefit my research greatly."

"How reassuring," Alistair sighed. "Look, can we just get on with it?"

"Dear, dear," the Architect turned his non-existent gaze on the Warden Commander. "Impetuous youth…"

"You mentioned assistance?" Kristoff interrupted, just as impatient as his Commander to slay the Mother and all her Darkspawn and return home in one piece.

"Oh yes. I've activated all known energy nodes in this Tower," the Architect informed them serenely. "Most considerate of the Tevinters to build magical generators on every level, isn't it? Just give me the word, and my lovely assistant will turn on the generators, sending raw magic down that very interesting and very convenient _array _hanging over the Mother's nest. She does love to live dangerously, dear Mother, but she shouldn't have sent her minions to disassemble the generators…not that she could have performed the task herself. She has, sadly, let herself go the past few months. Quite the shut in, I'm afraid."

"Brain hurt! Brain hurt!" Anders said, trying to locate the 'lovely assistant' the Architect mentioned and finding only a glowering, pupil-less Dwarf hunched behind the Architect. It curled her lip at him, raising a war axe threateningly.

"You know what?" Alistair said. "Why don't you unleash the power of the Tevinter node right now, while we take care of the hordes on the bridge?"

"But…what about finesse?" the Architect complained. "Style? Should you not strive towards poetry in battle?"

"How about this one then?" Alistair said, drawing his longsword and positioning his shield. "There once was a Darkspawn called Mother…"

"Who made Grey Wardening a bother!" Anders added cheerfully.

"Wow…" Sigrun murmured. "You guys should put this on the Warden recruiting pamphlets. Hefting her battle axe onto her shoulder, she grinned. "You'd get at least a _handful_ of people rushing to join." Having said this, she charged across the bridge…whistling. Alistair watched her for a couple of seconds before he too took off after her, yelling a slightly more aggressive warcry.

Kristoff pointed to the Architect, "I would suggest activating those magical nodes, sooner rather than later," he instructed as he too joined the fight on the bridge, followed by Nathaniel and Anders.

Behind them the Architect sighed. "Humans…truly, they are their own worst enemy…"

-oo-


	31. Vigils Keep

-oo-

**Chapter 31 – Vigils Keep**

Another explosion rocked the Keep. From the volume and intensity of the blast, it was likely from a group at the perimeter of the Keep's courtyard. _That's line number three…_she thought, forcing down panic by telling herself that Voldrik's great metal barriers under the Keep would hold…and so would their magic glyphs, even if it seemed as though the Mother's horde did not seem to care how many of their kind were lost trying to test them.

She, Jowan and a couple of the Keep's guards had stationed themselves along the battlements opposite the main tower. It gave a good view of the approach to the Keep as well as making them visible to the occupants of the tower. It felt odd to be clad in chainmail, but Varel had insisted; the persistent ache in her shoulder a reminder of how quickly rock armour disintegrated when a Mage wasn't paying attention. Jowan had taken to it as though he had been wearing the heavy links and thick leather capes most of his life. Velanna unsurprisingly had refused, preferring instead to continue to rely on her own form of protection. The Elf hadn't elaborated. Perhaps her intense glare was enough to stop arrows and sword strikes midair.

The Keep shook yet again. The first wave of Darkspawn had been repelled successfully thanks to Dworkin and Marduk's carefully laid field of explosives and the Mage wards. That had been a week and a half ago. Since then Vigils Keep had been attacked as many times as days had elapsed and Merran had lost track of the number of times they had had to regroup, count their losses and then reposition themselves. If the walls held, the occupants of the Keep could last for another week, if stretched. There had been little enough time to gather provisions, but judging from the sound below, if the next and final line of defence broke, they wouldn't have the opportunity to last another week.

Merran peeked through the crenellations, spying Garavel's archers taking aim through the arrow slits in the tower. At this height, she could see the horde like a dark stain on the Keep's grounds, seething and squirming and stinking. The Darkspawn had constructed a battering ram, made out of the remains of the village gates. This they were applying with great force against the Keep's main doors. A shout rang across the courtyard and Garavel's archers let loose their arrows, set aflame mid-flight. A moment later a lightning storm sizzled around the square; the smell of burnt Darkspawn flesh still turning Merran's stomach, despite the number of times that stench had filled the Keep's air; their pain-filled screeching piercing her ears.

"Maker take them!" Jowan hunkered down beside her, shaking sparks from the ends of his fingers. "It's never ending!" She looked up, automatically sealing a cut above his eye, then turned back and gave a terse nod. Across the courtyard, there was a brief flash of light and the timbers of the battering ram came to life, sprouting branches and leaves and then arms and legs. In great strides the walking tree trampled the Darkspawn until it was set alight by the horde.

_One more line of defence to go…_

Merran turned back to Jowan. The dark circles under his eyes looked like deep bruises, making his blue eyes look pale; almost colourless. There were tears in his mail shirt and he had been forced for the moment to discard his shredded leather gloves. They were all a mess really. She had ordered Varel to try and catch some well-needed rest a few hours ago though how anyone could sleep through the constant racket she didn't know.

"You look terrible," Merran commented, through a dust-parched throat. She raised her hand, a rejuvenation spell swirling about her fingertips. Jowan shook his head, placing his own hand on hers.

"Save your magic for someone who needs it more, Merran."

"When was the last time you had some sleep?" she asked him hoarsely.

"When did _you_?" he snapped back immediately, tempering the stern tone of voice with a half-smile.

Merran gave her head a small shake. If it was like _this _at Vigil's Keep, what must it be like in the city? She hoped the Grey Wardens there were all right. She hoped he would be all right. _He'd better be all right…or I shall be very, very cross with him…_She reminded herself he had good armour and he was a seasoned fighter, even more so than she…or so she kept telling herself. _He has good people with him._ _Good people…good people…good people…_she intoned mentally, her hind-brain adding: _don't die…don't die…don't die…_

Gripping the edge of the stone wall, she turned her mind to the magical barriers on the ground; giving them a boost, strengthening them, jumping when a hand tapped her on the shoulder.

"They _will_ hold," Jowan told her confidently. _Because if they didn't, they were all dead._

"I was just thinking about…" she began, finding it suddenly difficult to speak. The thought of a lopsided smile, just visible under a silly beard swam into her head and refused to leave it.

A deafening explosive boom rocked the battlements, throwing Merran backwards. The two Mages scrambled to their feet in confusion.

"What the hell was that?" Jowan exclaimed.

"Bloody Andraste's cotton caps!" Merran yelled, pointing towards the tower. It seemed the Darkspawn had discovered a way to use Dworkin's explosives for their own use. They had somehow managed – without detonating them – to unearth the explosive traps and set them at the base of the archery tower, and all without the Keep's inhabitants noticing. A loud crack followed the boom as the tower, bereft of the majority of its base, began to crumble…_Velanna is in that tower…_Merran's mind screamed at her in horror.

"You can't save them!" Jowan shouted a warning as the tower collapsed in on itself. _That's it…that was the last line…!_ Before the cloud of dust could settle, the Darkspawn began pouring into the Keep. Some were propelled outwards as they hit the repulsion fields, but the sheer numbers of Darkspawn soon weakened the magical shields, then broke them altogether before either Mage could make hasty repairs or reinforcements.

The doors of the Keep slammed open and the last of Garavel's soldiers, led by Oghren charged into the courtyard. Merran skidded to a halt, leaning over the wall at the battle below. _That is the last line…there's only one thing left to do…_She turned to her old friend.

"You ready?" she asked.

He gave a short nod. "Let's go."

Merran unfurled the rope ladder and the two Mages dropped down behind the horde into the courtyard, Jowan burning the ladder behind them. The stairs to the higher levels of the Keep had been destroyed to try at least to prevent the Darkspawn from making it to the safe rooms, but the more Darkspawn they could destroy _here_, the better.

_What I need right now is a dragon…_Merran thought, enclosing the nearest group of Darkspawn in a crushing prison spell. _A great, big, fire-breathing dragon…_An Ogre reached down and picked Oghren up by his battle axe, dangling him midair. A streak of gold and pewter flew across their line of sight, war axe biting into the Ogre's knees. Oghren and Ogre tumbled to the ground, the red-haired Dwarf managing to roll out of the way just in time to be intercepted by an Emissary's stinging swarm. While Oghren swatted feebly at the swarm, Marduk positioned himself by his side, attempting to fight back the waves of genlocks, until he too was lost under press of Darkspawn.

Her first instinct was to head towards the two Dwarves, casting repulsion and paralysis glyphs as fast as she could draw breath. Neither Mage saw the armoured Ogre until it was too late. It charged the both of them, missing Jowan by mere centimetres. Merran had little time to turn as a wall of muscle, metal and dripping teeth slammed into her. Sharp pain bloomed across her chest, accompanied by a sickening, cracking noise. Suddenly she couldn't breathe…and then it went dark.

-oo-

Shale was sitting on her chest. Why, Merran did not know. Only that she wished the golem would find somewhere else to sit. She could hear Shale's voice, laughing – well of course, the golem would laugh – getting to _squish_ a person was all part of the joy of being golemish, wasn't it?

She became aware of other voices. A soft voice, singing nearby, a little out of tune: Leliana? As the words became clearer; closer, as though she were moving towards the voices, Merran realised the song was about a brave hero, who, having vanquished the evil lord and claimed the love of the tower-dwelling maiden, was kicked to death by his donkey…Only Leliana could sing a song like that without making it seem as though she were singing a parody. _Leliana then, definitely…_

There was the clink of something glasslike nearby. Merran attempted to open her eyes, finding a blur of pink and white above her.

"Ah, good. You're awake." It was Wynne's voice.

Merran could feel her eyebrows on her forehead as they drew downwards. It hurt. She opened her mouth to speak, but found her throat too dry to allow the passage of words. It was still too difficult to breathe.

"You had us quite worried for a while there," Wynne continued. "Drink this…Oh, would you...?" Her voice went distant for a moment, as though she were elsewhere and then she felt strong hands under her shoulders lifting her up. Pain seized her upper body just before a cup of something vile smelling was tipped unforgivingly into her mouth. It was impossible not to choke on the liquid. It tasted just as bad as it smelled, but almost immediately the pain dissipated to a dull, if insistent throb. It was like the tail end of a migraine, but in her ribcage, rather than in her head. The same hands that held her placed her gently back down. _Alistair_? No, there was a waft of sandalwood and lemon as he bent over her; Zevran then…but if he and the others were here, then Alistair would be here too, right? She wanted to ask Wynne, but her head was starting to feel light and airless. There was a darkness drawing her away and try as she might, resistance appeared to be useless.

"It wouldn't do for you to come back after all this time and then die again," Wynne told her in her serene, laughing voice.

_I can't die…_Whether she said it or merely thought it, Merran couldn't tell. All feeling was leaving her in a blissful departure as sleep claimed her once more.

_I promised Alistair I wouldn't..._

-oo-

"Should it be making this noise when I do this?"

Anders looked a trifle too nonchalantly at his Warden Commander. "Oh, you mean when you try to walk on it after I _specifically_ told you not to put any weight on it?"

It was difficult to look dark when a dishevelled, feathery Mage with a _cat on his head _was talking to you, but Alistair did it anyway. It was the principle of the thing, especially when said cat spent its time batting playfully at the Mage's right earring. Yes, Anders had advised him he should 'try' not to walk on it, but couldn't the Mage just knit all the bones well enough so they could all sprint back home?

"I'll also remind you," Anders added, inspecting the dirt under his nails. "You were a bloody jigsaw. You're lucky you have skin; otherwise, there would have been no hope of sticking you back together. I don't _do _necromancy. Zombie ooze always leaves such a stain on one's robes."

"Robes?" Sigrun's voice chirped cheerfully. "I thought it was a dress."

"A dress?" Anders turned a look of outrage onto the grinning Dwarf. "I'll have you know I stole these _robes _off a perfectly respectable Tevinter Archon. These feathers are _enchanted._"

"Unlike the rest of you?" Sigrun chuckled. Despite the first to enter battle with the Mother, the Dwarf was the only one to emerge unscathed and uninjured. Alistair had seemed to have collected the majority of hurts, owing to the fact that the Mother had used him as a club to injure the other Grey Wardens. Kristoff had managed to stumble accidentally into the collapsed magical web while it had been aflame in the Mother's lair. What little hair the Warden had had left was now little more than reddened skin and blisters. Nathaniel might be grieving the damage done to the longbow that had been in his family for generations, but he was celebrating being able to hold on to both arms. Anders had…gotten dirty…Alistair's suspicious, inner Templar wondering whether the life-draining spell the Mage had used to chip away at the Mother and her brood was not actually _blood magic…_

The twisted ankle story, Alistair had not believed in the slightest.

Merran would probably tell him off for such un-Wardenly thoughts. A Grey Warden left their life behind and that included _almost_ Templars who conveniently dodged accusations of Chantry sympathising by saying he hadn't actually taken his vows – or hunted any Mages – thank you.

Adjusting the crutch under his arm, Alistair tried not to wince but did continue walking. His knee made the same distressing cracking noise as before, refusing to bend the right way.

"What did I just tell you?" Anders threw his hands in the air in exasperation, causing Ser Pounce-A-Lot to unsheathe claws and hook them into his scalp.

"Something about enchanting feathers," Alistair said, actually feeling sorry for the Mage as Anders attempted not to scream. He must be getting soft in his post-Archdemon, years…"Look," he added. "I just want to get home." _Maker's blood, do I ever…To find out whether I still have a home…and a _betrothed _and have one of her toasted cheese sandwiches and show her these clever crutches made out of dragon rib bones…_

"Well, so do I," Anders said, carefully unhooking the last of Ser Pounce-A-Lot's claws from his skin and wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. "Ser Pounce-A-Lot could do with a great, big bowl of milk and a bit of fish."

"Well, plenty of fish in Amaranthine," Sigrun reminded them. She broke into a skip, making all the injured in the group groan in envy. "Can't move for scales and fins there. Me, I'm just glad I'm vegetarian."

"What?" Anders exclaimed. "_You_?"

"Live underground for as long as I do, amongst Darkspawn taint and you would be too," Sigrun told him. "By the way – your head's bleeding."

"Knicker weasels, really? They're just love scratches, so I wouldn't be too…"

"Maker's breath, what has happened to the Keep's tower?"

At Kristoff's exclamation, the group halted. They had not yet reached the road to Vigil's Keep, but from this distance, the main tower should have been just visible as a half diamond on the horizon. There was nothing…only horizon…and a grey-black pall that stretched from the hills to the surrounding forest.

"Is that…? Smoke?" Sigrun asked, with a cautious look upwards at her Warden Commander.

Alistair nodded, dumbly. Gripping his dragon rib bones more tightly and gritting his teeth, he increased his pace, ignoring Anders' warnings to stop.

-oo-

Merran sidled along the corridor silently, keeping to the shadows, stopping at a noise ahead. She had been _told _the others were all right. Oghren was a mess, but still alive. Varel was _resting…_which was all the Seneschal could manage, given his injuries. The safe rooms and their sound barriers had held. The Keep's non-combatant inhabitants were unscarred and unscathed, but she would not be happy until she saw them all with her own eyes. Everywhere was the pervasive, stubborn stench of darkspawn – Shale had been kept quite busy working through the night carting the carcasses out of the Keep. Apart from the Wardens, she was the only one who would not be Tainted by contact with them.

Garavel's guard had been decimated. The Captain himself had perished in the final charge, along with Alys Maberlies and so many others. Wynne would not – or could not – give her any more information about Velanna. Voldrik and his workers were still sifting through the collapsed Keep tower, although some of the men had reported seeing Sylvie.

"You know, you're not supposed to be up,"

Startled by the unexpected voice, Merran bumped into a hallstand, knocking over the very ugly vase sitting on it. She caught it just in time, though she didn't know why. Perhaps she should have let it break, except Nathaniel would probably inform her it had been a treasured Howe heirloom and priceless or something…

"Shh," Merran said, placing the vase back onto its stand and lifting a finger to her lips. "You're not supposed to see me out here."

"No, I'm not," Jowan admitted, hand on hip; the other held in a sling. "Because you're not supposed to be up and about."

"I'm a fast healer…" Merran told him with a half-smile that came out half-grimace. "I just needed some fresh air…"

"Well you're not going to get it here. Maybe if you went to Orlais…or Tevinter…"

"I'm not going to go to Orlais," Merran scowled. "Too much garlic and anyway, I thought you're supposed to be resting too?"

"Fine. I won't tell if you won't."

Hooking undamaged arms together, the two Mages hobbled painfully down the corridor into the main hall. The stones had been scrubbed and the furnishings removed, including the smashed remains of the ornate gilt chair that used to reside at the far end. Alistair would be happy about that. He hated it, not wanting to put his bottom where Rendon Howe's had been.

They passed a group of Voldrik's workmen hanging the hall doors.

"I hear they had to cut Oghren out of his armour," Jowan said conversationally. "According to the surviving soldiers, he was the last fighter standing."

Merran shook her head. _Incredible…the hardiness and sheer single-mindedness of Dwarves keep amazing me…_She'd been about to say as much when a flash of silver in the distance caught her eye. She squinted into the afternoon sun. Despite placing the pyres downwind of the Keep, the breezes from the Amaranthine Ocean and the Waking Sea sometimes clashed at the Keep, wrestling for air space. There was a constant grey haze in the air and it was difficult to see beyond the outskirts of the village, but hope had filled her lungs with air and her feet with speed. She heard vaguely, Jowan's protest as she dropped his arm and began to limp faster through the courtyard.

Figures emerged through the haze. Tired, bandaged, bloody figures, barely recognisable by their bent backs and dirt-smudged faces; but she knew that armour and the Griffon upon it; and she knew that lopsided grin under that ridiculous beard. She also knew that she had probably broken something important when she flew at him, knocking him to the ground because he had been walking up an incline and she had been running pretty fast by that time. Firing healing spells in all directions, Merran didn't much care.

Lying on the ground in a heap, they both winced at each other, Merran stroking the dirt and solidified gore out of hair before wrapping her arms around his neck. He gave her a squeeze, causing a pained squeak. "Fractured ribs…" she explained.

"Crushed everything," Alistair shrugged. "I see you're still alive though," he grinned at her.

"I'm glad that you still are," she told him.

"Barely," Anders sniffed, feeling excluded from this particular conversation. He pointed an accusing finger at Merran. "And _you've_ just ruined all my handiwork, so now I'm just going to hand over my duties to you. I'm done here. Where's my Hero's welcome?"

"Well," Jowan said, catching up to the returning Wardens. "You'll be happy to know that the Keep's wine cellars were left untouched by the Darkspawn."

"That is excellent news," Nathaniel said. "The last time I was down there, there was an entire case of old '52, laid down by my Great-Grandfather."

"'52, you say?" Anders considered carefully. "Yeah…I suppose that'll do."

-oo-


	32. The King

A/N This chapter originally had been twice as long and even more self-indulgent than usual, so out came the cleaver and the red-ink (still have to figure a way to remove that from my screen). I'm trying not to drag this out, just in case people start to think I have separation issues…well, okay, I _do. _Thank goodness for Sackboy, eh?

Now, if only MediaMolecule will put out a DragonAge Sackboy costume…

Thank you to all you very kind folk who take the time to review and read. Virtual plum cake for all...

-oo-

**Chapter 32 – The King**

The wind blew shrilly across the salt-burned landscape, spider webs of ice forming along the inside edges of the carriage windows. The hot brick that had been placed at his feet had long since grown cold and if it weren't for the thick furs forming a cosy cocoon about his body; King Fergus knew he would be mostly ice himself. He had no reason to complain about the timing. He'd been married himself the week of Satinalia during one of the worst snow storms experienced in the north of the country. Highever hardly ever had snow, but for his wife-to-be, Highever had put on quite a show and Oriana had had her white wedding after all.

Thinking of his late wife inevitably led to thoughts of other family. He wished he hadn't had to make the trip north on his own, but with Alyssa expecting yet again and Rory busy picking up some of her duties, neither of them had been available to attend. He _was _glad he hadn't insisted on riding, acutely aware of the discomfort of his red-nosed guardsmen in their frigid armour and soaked tabards and feeling very sorry for them. It was just as well it was only a day trip to Amaranthine from the capital. Who knew what condition they would be in if they had had to make the trip to say, Redcliffe or Lothering? Or would the weather have been as bad inland? These storms were blowing in from the Waking Sea _and _the Amaranthine Ocean.

He shouldn't be bothered making this trip. Normally. If any other Arl or Bann were getting married, he would have merely sent them well wishes and a fruit basket of some description and he would have remained within the chilly walls of the Royal Castle, preparing for his annual trip to Cousland Castle for Satinalia with his mother and sister's family. This year however, the Teyrna had chosen to spend the time leading up to Candlemas in Denerim, indulging her twin granddaughters and awaiting the next delivery of grandchildren into the Cousland-Gilmore household. Well, not to say _bothered, _he corrected himself, but try not to show a preference for _particular_ members of the nobility. The Arl however, was a…special case.

Few other nobles alive today had contributed as much to Ferelden. From the reports he had received, the Warden Commander had again saved Ferelden from the destruction at the hands (or claws) of darkspawn. The thought of another horde being so close to his family in Denerim chilled him more than this blasted wind did.

The carriage began to slow and stopped altogether. Fergus risked a peek out of the window. It had begun to sleet. After a while his Guards Captain, Ser Brendan pulled up alongside the carriage, defying the wild weather by pulling up the visor of his helm.

"Why have we stopped?" Fergus inquired. "Is there a problem?" Bandits? Too cold for them. Darkspawn? No, according to the Warden Commander, _they_ would not be a problem for 'some time'.

"My apologies, Sire," Ser Brendan explained. "The road ahead appears to be blocked. We will endeavour to clear the road as soon as possible."

"How far are we to Amaranthine?" Fergus asked before the knight turned away. They should be close by now, surely.

"We passed the crossroads to the Keep, not half an hour ago, Sire."

"Then we could head to the Keep instead?" Fergus asked.

Ser Brendan appeared to consider this. "I…suppose…yes, we could, Sire."

Fergus noted the reluctance in the guardsman's voice. "Is there a reason we shouldn't head to the Keep instead of the city?" he asked. If his men were delayed clearing a landslide, they would risk being late for the ceremony. Stylish as it might be, Fergus preferred _not _to arrive after everyone else. If nothing else, he would like a chance to defrost his soldiers beforehand and warm up a little himself first.

The guardsman hesitated again. "I understand the Keep was heavily damaged in the darkspawn attacks, Sire. It may not be in a fit state to receive His Majesty."

Fergus rolled his eyes. He'd spent countless months camped in frozen mud and filth and smelly bodies in Ostagar and the Korcari Wilds; and then living with the Chasind until he'd been 'rescued' by Warden Merran and her merry band of misfits. That had been years ago, certainly, but he doubted he would be put to any inconvenience and he told Ser Brendan so.

"Look," Fergus told him. "I'd rather none of my men froze to death out here. If any of you have been to Highever before, you'd know what I mean. If it makes it any easier Ser Brendan, I order you to make for Vigils Keep."

The guardsman saluted. "Yes, Your Majesty. I will inform the men."

Fergus could hear Ser Brendan relay his commands to his men as he returned to his cocoon of warmth. Vigil's Keep might be a better idea than the city of Amaranthine. He knew rebuilding in the city had been rapid, which was just as well, considering the importance of the Amaranthine port to the rest of the country, but he had no idea of progress made at the Keep. It would be interesting to see for himself what had been done; and he was curious about the Arlessa to be quite honest. He'd heard very little about her, except that she had known the Arl during the Blight. Perhaps she had been one of his travelling companions? That lovely redhead with the terrible singing voice, or the rather mysterious, statuesque brunette…?

He would find out soon enough. The other thing he was looking forward to, he reminded himself – and this was something he was prepared to go to battle over - was getting back his _Mabari_…

-oo-

"You are completely bonkers…the both of you!"

Alistair stopped splashing along the shore and glanced in the direction of the speaker. It had come from a pile of blankets sitting on the beach, wobbling in the high wind. So, she was quite happy to remain on the beach and call them names, but did not make any attempt to leave. He knew _why_, jogging over to the blanket pile, Brogan still perched atop his shoulders like a small, bobble-headed growth.

"I'll remind you, it was your idea to get some fresh air!" he yelled over the wind. He was sure there had been ice in that last blast and it was horrendously cold, but the beach was empty, the air bracing and he quite liked watching the ocean during a storm. The water was quite warm in comparison.

"I change my mind!" she yelled back at him; two eyes peeking out from between the folds of the blankets. "I think we should go home now!"

"Are you sure about that?"

There was a sound that emerged from the pile that made him think she was considering this course of action very, very carefully. Leliana had been driving them both slowly insane. Heading out into the bad weather had been preferable to being berated over last minute details or harangued about what a mash the two of them were making of the event by holding it at such an _unfashionable _time of the year. Even patient Zevran had left for Amaranthine on his own and the two of them had snuck out of the Keep to the bay with Brogan. Bringing _him_ along ensured that he didn't rat to anyone that they were hiding from the redheaded Bard, though Alistair did think perhaps that they had been too long outside.

"People are going to start wondering where we are!" Alistair shouted over the wind.

"Gnngh…!"

He crouched down, level with her line of sight. "You know, if she didn't decide to head to Amaranthine without us, she's going to start looking for you soon!"

"Mummy's a scaredy cat!" Brogan mocked her. Merran cast a frown upwards, completely ineffective as most of her face was hidden by blanket. The lad was enjoying himself despite the cold. Being higher than everyone else, including the Warden Commander was always fun, though Merran noted his lips were blue, despite the woolly jacket, boots, cap and scarf. Alistair, damn him, was in little else but a pair of knee breeches and a loose shirt. It was _wet _of course from water spray and clung indecently to every interesting plane and curve on his upper body. He'd tied his hair back into a queue, but most of it had escaped and there was _salt _in his beard. The whole picture was beginning to make her feel slightly…_inappropriate._

If she didn't know better, she'd think he was doing it on purpose. He _must _be cold. She could see goose pimples on the exposed skin of his chest…_Oh my…_Inappropriate_ and _unnecessary_…_

"Whose idea was this again?" she asked, trying to gather courage to face the inevitable.

"Can't remember!" Alistair shot back. He extended his hand. "Courage, Grey Warden!"

"I think I'd rather face another darkspawn horde!" She got to her feet anyway.

His boots were nice and toasty, owing to the fact that Merran had been keeping them under the blankets with her. It was lovely to warm his gritty feet in them, though the warmth didn't last long and he ended up stealing one of her blankets for the trip through the dunes back to the Keep. There was only so far he could go to discombobulate Merran with dampened clothes and exposed skin before pneumonia set in…

-oo-

The royal carriage arrived with little fanfare at Vigils Keep. It took a few moments for the gate guard to actually recognise the royal crest on the side of the vehicle that drew up in the courtyard and then he simply shrugged, visiting the gatehouse briefly to send a message to the Seneschal.

King Fergus alit from the carriage, flexing his gloved hands and pulling the collar of his cloak higher. He waited patiently while Ser Brendon addressed the Keep's gate guard, then surrounded by his men, entered the Keep itself. Scaffolding lined one side of the main hall; the other appeared to be serving as some kind of storage area. The hall was bare of furnishings, except for the tattered banner currently being replaced by a handful of dwarves on a ladder. Fergus' attention was drawn to the blazing fire burning in the central brazier.

Doors clattered open at the far end of the hall and an elderly man in ornate silver mail entered.

"Your Majesty…" The Seneschal bowed deeply. "We were not expecting you at the Keep…I beg your pardon, and hope you will forgive our lack of preparedness."

"The road was blocked," Fergus shrugged. "And I should apologise for not sending a messenger ahead." He began peeling off his gloves. "Is the Arl in?" he asked, knowing full well that if the Keep's Seneschal was doing the greeting, then in all likelihood, the Arl was in hiding. If he knew Alistair, the decision to hold the wedding in the city was a way to keep nobles from getting underfoot at Vigils Keep. Fergus was glad. He would be surrounded by chilly Banns by now; it was another good reason to be at the Keep.

"The Arl is…He's…"

At that moment there was an eerie, unearthly howl behind them. The Royal guards drew their weapons, but it was only a grey tabby cat, bouncing from one of the hall to the other…being pursued by a small tree riding a Mabari…

Fergus had to look twice before his head could believe what his eyes were seeing and then it was still a struggle to connect the two events reliably. He turned to the Seneschal, whose attention had been suddenly and suspiciously arrested by the banner hanging dwarves. Fergus cleared his throat pointedly and the Seneschal turned back, offering profuse apologies for his lack of attentiveness.

"Perhaps Your Majesty would like to refresh himself?" The Seneschal suggested serenely, flannelling while the Keep's staff hastily prepared a room for the King. Keeping his movements slow and deliberate as befitted a man 'of his age', Varel indicated the King exit the main hall. The King, looking only slightly flinty, had begun to move forward, when the doors to hall were flung open, bringing with it a flurry of rain and leaves and wind. The King's guard once more drew their weapons, but it was only the Arl of Amaranthine, along with a small, woolly child and…

"Makers breath!" Fergus exclaimed, rushing forward. He remembered vaguely to wave his guards aside after he'd passed them, stopping just short of the newly arrived three.

"Oh hullo, Your Majesty!" Merran greeted him cheerfully, curtsying rather belatedly.

Fergus looked from Alistair to Merran then back to Alistair again. "This, _this _is the woman you're marrying?" he asked, eyes widened in disbelief.

Alistair grinned, draping a possessive arm around his betrothed's shoulders. "Was there supposed to be another one?" he asked. "I'm sure I would remember if I had one hidden away somewhere."

"But…you're…" He stared at Merran. "_You're supposed to be dead!_"

-oo-


	33. Cosy

A/N: Technically…part II of 'The King'. Bits were hanging off the page in an unsightly way, so it was trimmed into this…Um, and then rewritten because it was so sugary my virtual teeth began spontaneously forming cavities. Yes, yes, I _know _it's supposed to be candy floss, but there is so much a long-suffering pancreas fed on a lifetime of licorice allsorts and jelly snakes can stand…So I added cheese…

-oo-

**Chapter 33 – Cosy**

The rug in Varel's office was being worn down yet again; this time by the feet belonging to his Majesty, King Fergus I, though currently he looked anything but kingly. His heavy coat had been abandoned by the fireplace, along with his intricately embroidered tunic. His cheeks were red from both the heat of the blazing fire and from scratching at his beard in agitation. It all came down to the diminutive, dark-haired Mage sitting cross-legged on the high-backed chair by the fireplace.

She was _knitting…_

"This is…this is _incredible!_" he exclaimed, pausing because he was sure he'd heard himself say that before. In fact, he'd said it four times so far in the last fifteen minutes because the information relayed to him _had _been incredible.

"Incredible!" he repeated, because it appeared to annoy the Arl.

"Yup," Alistair rocked on the balls of his feet. "We have indeed ascertained that Merran coming back to life is incredible. Now, can please move on? In case you haven't forgotten, we have a _wedding_ to attend."

The King glared at the Arl. The man had made _him _wait _months _to take up the title in Amaranthine. He'd had nobles trying to chew off his ears, letters of complaint from burghers and merchants and a list longer than the Pilgrims Path of Things To Do and No One To Do It. Alistair could damn well await _his _pleasure for a change.

"Am I not worthy to receive a little more information than 'an Old God returned her from the Fade'?" King Fergus demanded.

"Well…" It was Merran that responded. "That's all the information that wehave unfortunately. Wynne – Senior Enchanter Wynne, that is – had an idea that I might have been sent back for a reason. Once I did whatever it is I had to do…_POOF!_" She drew a knitting needle across her throat in a gesture that was quite obvious. The Arl groaned in dismay.

"_Please _don't joke about that, sweetheart."

Merran grinned at her betrothed, unrepentant. She turned her attention back to the King. "_Anyway,_ we think this particular task might have been defeating the Mother, doing something about this Architect fellow and stopping a Mother-led Blight."

"Except that it was the Warden Commander that confronted and defeated both," Varel stated slowly. "Not that I wish to demean your effort to preserve the Keep," he assured Merran hastily. "So what does that mean? Another task?"

"I don't know…" Merran shrugged. "Without speaking to the…" She suddenly drew up short, smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Oh…stupid, stupid_, stupid_ Mage! Why didn't I think of this before?" She pounded the arms of her chair, clearly annoyed at herself. "Oh, I am such an idiot. Of course! Why didn't I…? I mean it would be difficult, trying to find the…but it can still be done…all I need is a guide…"

Silence fell as Merran glared at the chair across from her, broken by Alistair drumming his fingers on the edge of Varel's desk. She looked up, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Oh, don't mind me," he told her wryly. "I'd hate to interrupt your _private _conversation…"

She threw a skein of wool at his head.

"No," the King added, staring at Alistair, "Much as it goes against every fibre in my being; in _this _instance, I am in agreement with the Arl." He turned back to Merran. "What haven't you thought of before?"

Merran threw her hands in the air. "Talking with the Old God!"

Fergus' eyes widened. "You can _do_ that?"

"If I can find him. He might have moved on – the Fade is a big place – I mean, a really, _really _big place…"

"Too big," Alistair stated, his jaw set, rocklike. "You could spend too much time wandering the Fade and you do not have the abilities that you did when you were…"

"Why?" the King interrupted, his curiosity piqued. "Why would that be a problem?"

Alistair went to kneel by Merran's chair. "A Mage leaves their body behind to enter the Fade," he explained over his shoulder. "While in the Fade a Mage loses all concept of time. What might seem like mere minutes may be days or even weeks in reality. If a Mage does manage to come back after that time…and _alone; _it may be to a body that is no longer alive." He turned pleading eyes to Merran. "It is _not _an option, merely to satisfy our curiosity."

"I could have a couple of other Mages standing by…" she suggested.

"No."

"Bu…"

"_NO._" He could see she was still thinking about entering the Fade to look for the Archdemon; still thinking about defying him. Seizing her knitting and laying it aside, he wrapped his hands around hers, giving them a warning squeeze. "No, means 'no', Merran. I want you to promise me you will _not _try to enter the Fade yourself or with anyone else…_Promise _me…"

Merran sighed. "It's not a promise that I can make, Alistair. When Mages dream they enter the Fade. It's not always voluntary."

With hard eyes, Alistair gave her hands another squeeze. "That's not what I'm talking about and you know it."

She sighed again. Pulling her hands free she held up her right hand, palm side out. She began to recite, "I Merran Amell, do by swear and promise that I will not intentionally enter the Fade for the purposes of seeking out the Old God Urthemiel…" She caught Alistair's expression and added reluctantly. "Nor will I attempt while sleep-dreaming to do so either…" At his raised eyebrows, she rolled her eyes and sighed. "Or attempt to seek _any _other entity either godlike or otherwise forthesamesaidpurpose." She paused, hunching her shoulders in defeat. "Was that good enough?" she asked.

Alistair stood. With the barest nod of acknowledgement her statement _might_ have come close to meeting his requirements, he told her, "I want it in writing."

Taking up her knitting again, Merran began furiously working the needles, while Alistair looked on, both smug and indulgent. She growled at him, curling her lip like an angry Mabari. Alistair patted her on the top of her head. "Good Mage. Now…_stay._"

Varel cleared his throat noisily. It sounded suspiciously like laughter.

"Well then," Alistair informed them all. "If we are to make it to the Chapel of Our Lady Redeemer before sunset, we should leave now…"

"Ah…about that…" Varel's expression turned solemn as he exchanged a look with the King. "I'm afraid I have some…unpleasant news, Your Grace."

Alistair sighed. "If you're going to give me bad news, _Bertie,_ the least you can do is address me by my name."

"My apologies Y-Alistair…I was given information by the King's party that the forest road to Amaranthine was blocked, so I took the liberty of sending a scouting party into the area. They've just returned…with not very good news, I'm afraid."

Alistair had had his hand on the door handle. It fell to his side as he leant his head briefly on the wood of the doorframe, preparing himself for the news. He turned to his Seneschal. "How 'not very good', Varel?"

"Landslide," Varel informed him briefly, adding; "With all the rain the area has had in the recent days, the ground has become unstable in the forest pass. The scouts informed me the area is far too unstable to attempt to clear during a storm."

The enthusiasm that Alistair had woken up with in the morning dampened to vague interest. He would prefer any amount of scolding from Leliana to hearing news like this. Whatever entity held his fates in its fickle hands was enjoying testing him. Alistair pushed his luck just a little further. "How long did these scouts think it would take to clear the road – once the storm abates?"

Varel cleared his throat again. "Days, Your…uh…I _am _sorry."

"Good grief Varel," Alistair told him. "It's not your fault." He turned back to the door and opened it. No one could see his expression when he added, though his voice sounded dull when he informed them all "I'll be in my office." He raised his hand in a half-hearted wave. "Just in case anyone needs the world saving…"

The door closed quietly behind him and silence fell upon the room.

"Well," the King said, rather awkwardly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say the Arl was a tad upset…"

-oo-

Alistair threw himself into the large chair behind his desk. The fire had not been lit because it was assumed by the Keep's servants that because the room wasn't ever used it therefore didn't need to be kept warm. It was like sitting in a cave in the Frostback Mountains. After a while, he flung his booted feet onto the desk, leaning backwards and staring at the ceiling. There were cobwebs. Resting clasped hands on his middle, he began twiddling his thumbs. He didn't really have any work to do at present, having cleared everything with Varel in preparation for the wedding trip. He supposed that would have to be put off as well…And he was bored. He tossed up the idea of donning mail and attempting to take out his frustration on a training dummy, but…he couldn't be _bothered_.

It wasn't like him. After being constantly busy for the last four years – and Makers breath, had it really _been _that long? – he felt like everything he'd done up to this point had led him to the edge of a precipice, with nothing beyond.

_What happened to my dream in the sun…_he wondered? Rose and Brogan playing in the grass? His love by his side? Maybe they weren't meant to be married. Maybe they were meant to forever live in wicked, evil, soul-destroying _sin…_and anyway, if living with Merran was so bad, he should have been struck by lightning by now and…a rumble overhead preceded a crackle and flash of light.

Tilting his head to the side, he addressed the outside world, "Yeah, yeah…you have to have the last word don't you? Just in case you don't know _this_ gesture…"

"Who are you talking to?"

Alistair looked over the arm of his chair. He noticed she'd brought her knitting bag with her. He pointed to it. "Still making hats for everyone?" _Maybe I should learn. It'll give me something to do. Or maybe I'll get Zevran to teach me needlepoint…_

She shook her head, balancing her hip on the edge of his desk. "Baby clothes."

Alistair tried to get up too fast; his heels caught on the edge of the desk and the rest of him slipped off the chair. He landed with a loud thump under the desk. By the time he'd managed to organise some of his limbs, he looked up to find Merran peering over the edge of the desk, frowning at him. "That looked painful," she said.

"Baby clothes?" he repeated.

"For Nate's sister," she told him. "I figured if I get started now, I should be finished by autumn next year. She's due in the spring."

"Oh."

She chuckled at him. "Are you still disappointed about that?"

"Well…no. Not really. Yes. Yes I am. It would be kind of nice, that's all." Not that he could imagine Merran ever…well…she was so _thin._ Carrying a child would make her look like she'd swallowed a watermelon whole.

"You could legally adopt Brogan" she suggested. "Or…_hey_…" Resting her chin in her hands she stared thoughtfully at his shield ornaments. "When we get married, does he automatically become your son too?" She looked down on him. He remained sitting on the floor. "That would be wonderful, wouldn't it?" she added.

"My son…?" Alistair thought this over. _His son…_His relationship with the dwarf child was still rocky to say the least. He was quite sure it had been _Brogan _who had glued pine nuts into his armour padding and relocated a family of frogs into his smallclothes drawer. After the sugar bowl incident, he'd been careful about what he put into his morning porridge and had taken to making sure he was wearing his armour when drinking tea. Bronwyn was still annoyed at him for allowing the special Andraste's Grace flower print teapot to explode because who could possibly imagine such a sweet child would be responsible for such an wicked prank?

"I guess it's too late to exchange him for a nicer kid at the orphanage?" Alistair asked hopefully, finding his nose being thoroughly pinched for even mentioning it. Still…he would keep trying.

"You really don't like him, do you?" Merran asked, disappointment in her soft voice.

"Like has nothing to do with it," Alistair tried to explain. "He terrifies me. I'm even afraid to visit the garderobe every morning." And the less said about _that _incident, the better…

She chuckled indulgently. "Boys will be boys," she said, misty-eyed. "I wish I'd thought of something like that when I was at the Circle Tower." She laughed again. "He's such a clever lad."

"If you say so," Alistair commented resentfully.

"And you know," she told him, becoming serious. "He only plays pranks on you."

"Lucky me."

"I think it's a sign of affection." _Or he could hate me, _Alistair stared up at her. It was really no use trying to convince her the child should be clapped in the stocks or sent away to a prison camp for irretrievably naughty, evil children. No matter what Brogan did, it was all good. _I wonder how old a dwarf has to be to join the Legion of the Dead? _

"He only also talks to you," she continued. "He's still wary around the other Grey Wardens." _Or it could be because he senses easy prey…like a Blight Wolf…_

"I really don't know what I've done to deserve his 'affection'," Alistair told her sourly.

She laughed at him. "Silly," she told him. "I would have thought it was fairly obvious."

"Really? Well, the 'dumb nug' can't figure out why."

"He sees you as a threat," she smiled.

"You just told me his cruel japes and pranks were a sign of affection!"

She nodded. "It must be difficult for him," she explained. "Try and look at it from his point of view. His parents were taken violently away from him. Someone saves him and looks after him, but then a very large man in a scary metal suit keeps getting in his way."

"Well, the large man in the metal suit has tried to be nice to him, " Alistair pointed out.

"Yes he has," Merran agreed. "And I'm glad that you've made the effort. I think Brogan does actually like you. I think he feels safe with you, but he still thinks you're going to take me away from him, and that's what scares him."

"And the pranks are his way of saying 'hi, I like you!', 'now stay away from my mummy'!" Alistair wagged his finger at her.

"Yes. I think. Oh now you've confused me." She made a face at him. "Whenever I try to channel Wynne, I always get it wrong."

Alistair propped his elbows on the edge of his chair, stretching out his legs under the desk. "I just wanted to do this _right_…" he sighed, disappointment dripping from every word he uttered. "Was that too much to ask for?" His elbows slid off the leather and he slumped lower, resting the back of his head on the chair seat.

"Oh! You've just reminded me why I came here!" Merran said brightly. "You completely distracted me and I forgot."

"What?" Alistair mumbled, too despondent to respond to her tone of voice. "What did you come here to tell me?"

"Ha ha!" she jabbed a finger in the air. "I had a talk with Varel and the King and we came up with a plan." He glared at her sceptically. Unless they intended to fly through the storm to Amaranthine, he wasn't interested. "Do you remember how difficult it was, getting the Revered Mother to agree to _allow _a Mage to be married?" she asked, leaning forward.

"Yes I do…" Alistair growled. "And out of respect for you, I won't repeat the word I used at the time."

"_Well…_We still managed to obtain the Chantry's permission."

Alistair sighed. This was not _new _information. "Don't drag this out, Merran. Just tell me."

"The King can marry us," she stated.

"What?" Alistair shouted, despite himself. He looked over at her happy face and knew her announcement hadn't been made in jest. "I think you're going to have to explain this to me after all…" he said slowly.

She giggled. "Sure, I'll just…" She'd tried propping herself up on her elbows again, but had been too close to the edge of the desk. She slipped; her legs flailed trying to regain her balance, but only managed to tip her over. There was a brief squeal of panic before she landed head first into his lap. Wriggling to try and right herself again just made it worse; one foot clipping him around the ear, until her grabbed her legs to stop her struggling. She realised she could sit up, and promptly cracked the top of her head on the underside of the desk.

"Well…" she said, holding her head and wincing. "That was awkward…" And _then _she realised exactly how she was positioned in his lap and every exposed bit of skin turned the colour of ripe tomatoes, even as she grinned at him. "And…cosy…"

"Yes, isn't it?" Alistair said, ducking his head under the desk to join her. "You know I never realised how…_spacious_ the underside of a large wooden desk can be," he observed, looking around; or attempting to because the space was far too low to accommodate his height – or his bulk – so he leant forward instead. "So…" he began, lips brushing hers, because holding her closer meant they were being _space-efficient_. "You were saying something about the King…?"

-oo-


	34. Wedding

A/N: A slightly longer chapter, folks. I tried cutting it down, but only ended up writing more. If I'd been doing this on real instead of virtual paper, I would have destroyed several forests in re-writes; which is why this has taken so long to get to you. Sorry 'bout that…

Thank you to all of you lovely, wonderful people who have taken the time to read, alert, review and just look in. Your comments have kept me striving to improve and to try to keep entertaining you all in any small way that I can.

Also thanks to Bioware; for looking the other way while people like me take their characters out and, um…forget to return them. Oops! I hope that no-return fee isn't pro rata…

-oo-

**Chapter 34 – Wedding**

As the minstrels played, Alistair navigated his way around the dancers, barely keeping the contents of the tray from spilling as he held it protectively above his head. In the short distance between the banquet table to the other side of the square, he'd avoided being strangled by lengths of twirling ribbon, being kicked to death by satin-clad feet and then brained by random, flying dwarves. Some of the liquid in the cups had splashed the top of his head, trickling uncomfortably down the back of his neck. He was looking forward to unburdening himself and then heading back to have a bit of ale and roast _schmooples_ himself. He'd worked hard today; being _the Arl._ He'd circulated, was chatty, shook hands, kissed cheeks and had taken a few turns about the dance square, priding himself on being the _first _to dance with the lovely bride.

Smiling to himself about how that had led to a no holds barred challenge of dwarf tossing, he cleared the dancers to be promptly attacked by a horde of small, squealing people. They bobbed up and down as he unloaded his burden like a farmer throwing out grain to a yardful of clucking chickens, scooping up the prettiest and the tiniest of the lot and giving her a smooch on her very sticky, grubby cheek. Roslina giggled at him, curling one thin arm around his neck, the other clutching a piece of cake almost as big as her head.

"Wha…..HEYYYYYYY….!" _Thump._ That had been one of Dworkin's men; he'd had time to tuck his arms into his side, for added aerodynamics; a triumphant roar indicating this had been the longest toss so far.

So…Alistair mused, reaching out to haul Brogan back by the collar as the lad started his way towards the tossing arena…this was a dwarf wedding…? Three whole days of feasting, drinking, dancing and general revelry…?

Even if there hadn't been a size difference, the dwarves could be easily picked out by the colours they wore. Red clashed with orange and blue and purple. Black had been banished, along with white and grey and the men seemed to be competing with each other in beard arrangement. None had been more magnificent than the groom himself. Alistair had never seen Oghren so clean before. More surprisingly, though there were five different types of mead, four different types of wine and eight kinds of ale being served, Oghren was still upright, smiling, walking in a straight line and hadn't belched in at least fifteen minutes.

Marriage must be working for him then, Alistair thought rather smugly, feeling responsible for the day's events. Varel _might _have had a bit of a hand in it, but the Seneschal had acted on _his _instructions...

He settled himself on a nearby bench, searching the crowd for a familiar figure in a brown dress. Rose sat on his lap, not so much eating the cake as smearing it across her face in the hopes some of it would reach her mouth. The older children had filled their near bottomless bellies with food and drink, scattering like dandelion seeds blown by the wind to engage in more random running about and yelling. Brogan had also remained behind, legs swinging on the bench beside him, studying the cup of non-alcoholic lichenade supplied specifically for the children with a dubious frown.

"Just drink it," Alistair suggested. Brogan switched his doubtful gaze from the mug to him.

"It's green," the boy remarked - because anything green was to be avoided at all costs, obviously – and took a sip. He offered the cup to Alistair. "Would you like some?"

"Ah, no thanks. I'm not thirsty." Except he was. _Parched, _in fact and wishing he'd been able to carry with him some of the cavern moss mead Voldrik had raved about. Voldrik clearly knew what he was talking about, seeing as the Glavonak brothers had challenged the Grey Wardens to a Last Man Standing drinking bout. The last time Alistair had passed their table, only Anders was upright; and he suspected magic was involved.

Rose dusted the crumbs from her dress, jumping off his knee to join the other children. Brogan hastily downed his lichenade and took off after her. Despite the day being warm and dusty the lad had managed to find _mud_ and paint himself with it. After they'd gone, Alistair unbuttoned his hated yellow vest, tossing it to the ground behind him. It was an unfriendly shade of mustard that had made him look like a large, aggressive daffodil. He'd tried to wear his Warden Commander's armour, but this was a _civic _occasion and the colours of Amaranthine demanded they be shown.

He'd drawn the line at the striped orange and brown tights. He'd never worn a pair in his life and he hadn't been about to start now, opting for a pair of deep chocolate breeches instead. He supposed he should be grateful the colours in the Arling's crest weren't puce or bright purple. He could deal with the beaver (or was it a hedgehog?) rampant upon a field of yellow and white. It was something four-legged, brown and running rampant, anyway. Possibly, it was an overweight stoat…One day he'd be bothered to check.

With Leliana's outraged voice screaming in his head on the crime he was perpetrating against fine lace, he practically tore the buttons off his shirt cuffs to roll his sleeves up his arms. Fashion be damned; he was going to be comfortable on such a hot, humid Ferelden summer day. Tugging at his shirt ties, he loosened the collar; fanning the material to try and encourage cooler air against his skin. No one could have asked for a better day to hold a wedding. It was very different to his own; held during a booming storm with a leak in the partially repaired roof of the main hall dripping water loudly on his armour and Merran in a dress the Keep's cook had cobbled together because of course, _Leliana _had so cleverly taken Merran's wedding clothes to Amaranthine earlier in the day…

He closed his eyes briefly against the sun, listening to the music and the sound of partygoers and thinking of Merran's brown dress…It was a _nice _dress…He especially liked the way the thin material clung to the even nicer curves she'd grown over winter…_Do I regret it,_ he asked himself? _Nope, not a jot._ It had been worth it just to see the expression on Leliana's face when she had been able to return to the Keep…

But, it had been done. Merran was _his. _His wife; his spouse; his ball and chain and the reason he didn't want to get out of bed every morning. Very few people could say they had been married by the King of Ferelden; the highest legal authority in the land, though he doubted Fergus was about take up performing marriage as a bit of a side-line to ruling the country, as Alistair had suggested. The man really needed to relax…In a few months, the city of Amaranthine would be as she had been before the Blight even started and in a _slightly _longer time, rebuilding at the Keep would also be completed. True to their word – which was still a slightly odd concept to grasp – the darkspawn had retreated to the Deep Roads. Everyone was well, everyone was happy…

A high-pitched yapping preceded an eerie screech. Alistair peeled one of his eyes open briefly to see Cullen bouncing past, Sylvie clutching the Mabari's ears…and a cat sitting in the tree like a Satinalia tree ornament…_Well, _his eyebrows lifted lazily. _Even the tree is happy, _although…

He closed his eyes again, settling his head back to rest on the fence post behind him, revelling in the warmth of the sun. The final words the Architect had given him still puzzled and exhilarated him, even after all this time.

_You taintless creatures are of no use to me…_

He had not mentioned it to Merran. Despite her promise not to enter the Fade to look for Urthemiel, he knew the idea of questioning the Old God still burned in that contrary, stubborn head of hers. And as much as he wanted to know himself, he also simply wanted to _believe…_

"Tag!"

"Hey! No fair!"

Alistair's eyes snapped open. Brogan shot across his field of view pursued by a tiny, beribboned blue dart.

"Ha, ha, Rosie…try and catch me now…!" Brogan taunted over his shoulder, nearly colliding with a fence post in his inattention.

With a flying leap unexpected from someone so young and small, Rose launched herself at the older child, knocking him sprawling onto his front. Sitting on his back, she pumped her fists in victory, yelling "Gotchoo, Booger!"

Alistair continued to watch the scene from his dream unfold…Was it mere coincidence that he'd just been thinking about his dream, and then it happened? He continued to watch, with wide eyes, Brogan pretending to be mortally wounded, throwing her off his back and their mad scramble to resume the game of catch…His heart stuttered when two slender, silk-clad arms slid across his shoulders from behind. He squeezed his eyes closed, counting his heartbeats and trying to slow his breathing when he felt her lips brush his ear, his skin tingling all the way to his navel.

"You need a haircut," Merran's voice tickled the hairs on his neck, tracing a line of butterfly-light kisses along his hairline, stopping briefly to investigate the very slightly lighter coloured skin under the ponytail he wore these days. "You're getting a weird tan line…

"I th…" His voice emerged in a squeak; his tongue not quite bending the way he wanted it to; his brain giving in to the sensory diversion caused by her making her way to the other side, ending with his left ear. He surreptitiously pinched the back of his hand, just in case it was a dream after all – and did that sort of thing actually work anyway?

Forcing himself to collect his thoughts, he tugged her into his lap; as much to hide the fact that he was enjoying her public display of affection a little too much as stopping her from causing him to… enjoy himself too much.

Trapping her in a hastily formed cage of muscle and bone, Alistair found himself at a slightly better advantage, the words issuing more smoothly from his mouth, "I like it long. I think it makes me look romantic and roguish."

Merran raised an eyebrow at him, regarding the picture critically "Romantic and roguish?" she asked skeptically. "Am I supposed to be impressed by that? You know Anders is going to think you're just copying him."

"Anders…" He made a face at her. How he could be mistaken for that smart-mouthed, dishevelled, ostrich-feathered Apostate? Anders was…_Oh, for the Maker's sake…_"We looking _nothing_ alike," he protested in an aggrieved tone. "_I,_" he paused for emphasis, "was thinking more of the suave-older-man-Bann Teagan look."

"As opposed to looking like you've partially swallowed a squirrel?" she asked.

_A comment like that deserves some form of punishment,_ Alistair thought, trying to remember what was supposed to happen next. The Mage on his lap kept distracting him…She had tucked her feet up onto his knees, curling on his lap like a cat. Bending her head she had began to nuzzle his neck, despite being in full view of the dancers, dwarf tossers and impressionable children, though he wasn't too sure which was the more provocative; the nuzzling or the fact that he could see right down the front of her dress.

"You know," he told her sternly, "Keep that up and I'm going to have to take you inside."

"Well, if you did" she said in a reasonable tone, nibbling the lobe of his left ear. "It would certainly solve the tan line problem." She stopped with a sigh, butting her head against his. "But we _are _supposed to be Rugrat-sitting-supervising-watching."

"Oh _really_?" Sarcasm oozed out of every vowel and poured off the consonants that dripped from his mouth. "Here I was thinking we were the entertainment. Damn! I knew I should have read the fine print on my contract."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she told him haughtily, reaching behind him to lift a goblet and plate from the ground. She blew off a couple of enthusiastic ants. They hadn't even reached the cheese yet. "A little reward for the hard working Arl," she explained.

"Hah!" he barked. "I knew there was a reason I married you and not some random, attractive female Mage right out of her Harrowing…" And then he couldn't speak for the cheese and sun-warmed bread stuffed into his mouth, washed down by a few happy mouthfuls of spiced wine.

Disappointingly, she slid off his lap, sliding under the band of his arms to sit beside him, her attention fixed by Oghren and his bride skilfully and enthusiastically winding about the other dancers. Zevran was there, of course, blond braids flying as he partnered Leliana. She gave a deep sigh. "Isn't Felsi beautiful…"

Alistair washed the cheese and bread down with another mouthful of wine.

"All brides are beautiful," he told her, in a passably Wynne-like voice, spoiling the effect and the mood by adding, "Even you. You scrubbed up pretty well, I thought."

She didn't hit him, only gave him a _look _that told him even though she _couldn't _turn him into a frog any more, if she could, she _would._

"Oh by the way," he changed the subject cheerfully. "I have a proposal…"

Her eyebrows crooked sharply on her forehead. "A proposal," she repeated. "But you're not even naked."

"That can be arranged," he told her helpfully. "No, I've been thinking: maybe it's about time we thought about a sister for Brogan." Her head tilted to the side. _Go on…_her expression told him. "Well, the Arlessa Alyssa mentioned in recent correspondence that there's a little girl in the Denerim Alienage orphanage…"

She interrupted him with a most un-Arlessa-like snort. "The Arlessa Alyssa," Merran recited. "_And _the Denerim Alienage Orphanage? I dare you say that fifty times in rapid succession without drawing a breath."

"I don't think I can without choking on my tongue," he admitted. "The little girl's name is Amethyne."

"Amethyne…" He could see her turning the name over in her head, sorting through her memories of the Alienage. She looked doubtful for the briefest moment, but as soon as she started chewing on her bottom lip, he knew she was convinced.

"She's an Elf?" she asked cautiously. He nodded. _Obviously. _"Would the Hahren release her to us, do you think? There aren't a lot of Elves at the Keep, I don't want to her feel left out…" Her expression brightened. "Oh! I suppose there's Zevran…"

"Right, I just changed my mind."

"No, no, no! We'll…" She chewed again on her bottom lip. "We'll make do. We'll make a good case for Cyrion and…There are Dalish in the area still – and plenty of Elves in Amaranthine – all free citizens. There isn't an Alienage in this Arling. It'll be good for her. She'll have fresh air and…and…" She smacked him _now_. "Stop laughing at me."

"I now pronounce us completely even," Alistair told her smugly. Turning serious he told her, "So I'll write to the Arlessa…?" he asked. "Tell her if Amethyne doesn't mind coming all the way here…?"

"Sure, but…" She turned away abruptly, watching the dancers in the square, her expression unreadable. "Is it right; making plans for the future when we don't really know that we have one?"

"You adopted Brogan," Alistair pointed out, trying not to sound annoyed. "You had enough hope in our future to do that."

"Actually," she told him with a small wince, "I was thinking that if something happened to me, then you would take…"

_Still on that are you?_ Merran heard the voice in her head the same time she saw the flash of anger in Alistair's eyes…and then he frowned.

"Did you just…?" he began, when the two of them felt a sigh, like a breeze from the pages of a large book being fanned, except in their heads.

_I thought it would have been obvious by now,_ the Old God's voice echoed in their heads_. Haven't I given you enough clues? Honestly…mortals…_The last was said with such scorn, it brought the both of them up short, Merran giggling; Alistair frowning in confusion. Lowering his voice, he asked quietly. "Did we just…? Did an Old God just tell us that we're a couple of thickheads?"

_Do I actually have to say it? Well, all right then…you're both a couple of thickheaded thickheads. To put it into words – and I will use very small ones, and speak verrrry slowly…I put you back onto that godforsaken, windblown, ice-packed world because you did me a favour…not to mention the fact that you're a godawful Plonk! player._

Alistair cleared his throat again, "So, erm…"

_And do something about that cold of yours…_Urthemiel said snappishly. _I'd hate to give you back both your lives to have you carried off by some horrible human lurgy._

"Don't you mean one of our lives?" Alistair asked.

_Oh?_ Urthemiel asked sardonically. _Surely you don't think someone with the kind of injuries you had would have _actually _survived, do you? _

"But Alistair didn't come back into the Fade with us," Merran whispered. The thought of Alistair _dying_…and she hadn't known…

_It was convenient for me to return him straight away, _Urthemiel told them with little other explanation. _You, on the other hand, was slightly more complicated. Why? Have you changed your minds? Do you wish me to take your lives again?_

Both Alistair and Merran hastily assured the Old God, that _yes, _they were both incredibly, rapturously happy about being alive.

"So is this an arrangement like Wynne?" Merran asked.

_Borrowing?_ Urthemiel made a humming noise in thought. _No. _

"But giving back a life…" Alistair said in disbelief. "That's…"

_Yes. I am a GOD, Warden Commander. God's have certain…powers. Now, if you would excuse me…_

"So how long are we looking at here?" Merran asked hastily, "The two of us, that is."

_Do you intend to throw yourself off a tower?_ Urthemiel sighed._ No? Under a speeding farmers cart? Drink poison, hm? How long is a length of string?_

"As long as you…_oh,_" Merran rolled her eyes in embarrassment, then added. "Wow. Thank you."

_Just don't go spreading it around,_ Urthemiel said, _Or other dead people will want the same thing. _Now_ if you'll excuse me, I'm running late for a game of Hit the Ridiculously Small, White, Pitted Ball From A Large Distance With A Club-Headed Stick with Andorhal. We made it up last week and it's become all the rage in the Black City. Zazikel suggested we add crocodiles, but then she _would_. _A flutter of leathery wings accompanied a snort of mockery. _It's not like we can fit a crocodile down one of those tiny holes, but oh well…_There was a slight pause. _What, no other questions?_

"Um…not at the moment…" Merran said.

"Crocodiles…" Alistair said in a small voice. "Crocodiles...?"

After the Old God's voice faded from their heads, Alistair could feel Merran's magic, prodding at the Fade veil. "He's gone. Really gone," she said faintly. He could hear disappointment in her voice too, but he supposed after being in mental contact with the Old God for such a long time, losing that contact would be like losing a good friend.

"Are you alright?" he asked her. She turned wide eyes onto him.

"I think so…we can still feel darkspawn," she said. "How does that work?"

_Not so well, when you think about it,_ Alistair thought to himself. The reason why he got hurt the most fighting darkspawn was because he couldn't detect them as well as the other Wardens. It was also the reason why he healed much more slowly, ate less, felt tired when the others didn't. _Technically, _without the Taint, he wasn't a Grey Warden, neither of them were. So did that mean that either of them could sicken from darkspawn taint now?

Alistair shook his head. They'd both been in contact with a _lot _of darkspawn over the last year. Both had handled darkspawn as thought they were immune. If they no longer had that immunity, they should have gotten sick by now. But they hadn't.

He sighed. All this thinking was making his head hurt. It would be enough to know that without the taint burning in their veins, either of them might make it beyond thirty years…give or take. It was a thought that filled his head to bursting. He had been prepared for another twenty years with Merran. Could they make it to forty? Fifty? How long did ordinary people live? The both of them would see Brogan and Rose – and Amethyne – grow up, find love, have children or even grandchildren of their own…see the Wardens truly rebuilt in their own lifetimes…

_Never to hear their Calling…_

"You'll get sick of me, you know," Merran told him softly. "I'll probably turn into a nagging old biddy."

"Turn into?" Alistair stroked the side of her neck. "You already are – ow! - bruise easily, remember? And no, I can't imagine getting sick of you." He tightened his hold on her, resting his forehead against hers. "Ever."

"Aw…" She kissed him. After a while he felt her lips twitching against his. "Your moustache hairs keep going up my nose…"

"You realise the older I get the hairier I'll be?" he raised eyebrows at her.

"Hm, in that case perhaps we should employ a dwarf barber at the Keep" she suggested. From the other side of the garden, the sound of children's laughter hung in the summer air, like a rainbow of sound. Warmth and sunshine on two pairs of legs chased each other from one end of the party square to the other. If all went well, by autumn, there would be three pairs…As for the _fourth…_Alistair still had hope. He wasn't about to waste a taint-free life and he'd certainly enjoy _trying_ at the very least.

"Merran…"

"Hm…?"

"Have I said, by the way, that I'm glad you're back?"

She kissed him again; long and deep and filled with promise. "I'm glad I'm back too."

END


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